


Can't Escape

by cge0361



Series: Ocimene [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loyalty, Past Abuse, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cge0361/pseuds/cge0361
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a college-bound trainer enjoying his last summer on the road adopts a pokemon fleeing her abusive captor, a combination of failed promises, shattered dreams, and broken hearts threaten to destroy his team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Likes To Run

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 1: Likes To Run.  
  


* * *

  
A gentle northward wind blew against a stand of saw-grass and cat-tails, causing its blades to sway with a faint and rhythmic motion. An ampharos standing within the thicket, his feet beneath an inch of lake water, heard a vaporeon at his right signal eager readiness with a whistle. Zap took a few deep breaths in preparation and fell forward onto his fore-hooves, plunging his head into cold Lake Myrcene East. He let his thoughts drift to a favorite tune, causing a naturally-grown gem embedded in his skull to emit a scintillating glow that pulsated in-time with the music he remembered. Despite his lungs' steadily-strengthening demand for fresh air, he held perfectly still and watched a fish as it timidly approached his light. Once it neared enough that he could target it surely, Zap's long tail curled over his back, coming into a triangular alignment with his submerged horns and fore-hooves. Accompanying a brilliant flash, sparks burst outward erratically as Zap's electrical discharge coursed through the fish, causing it to reflexively launch itself upward.  
  
The vaporeon beside Zap bounded twice. Once from beyond the radius of the ampharos's outburst, and again, replacing its blinding flash with a pale cyan-blue streak of moonlight reflecting off of his own scaled flesh. That arc curved broadly from the weeds to meet the fish, snatching it out of the air at the apex of its leap. Relying on unnatural surface tension, Phil's skidding paws cast gentle ripples across the surface of the lake that appeared to be tiny flecks of white where their crests too caught the moonlight. He turned about and trotted back toward the shoreline. In bold defiance of his elemental weakness, Phil walked along Zap's spine to leave the water behind before diving into the weeds and making his way toward a campsite where his other friends relaxed.  
  
Zap withdrew his head and snorted harshly to clear lake water from his nasal cavity. Letting his tail's orb illuminate his immediate surroundings, Zap stepped back from the shoreline and tilted his head from side to side, encouraging his ear canals to drain passively. Zap found no pleasure in fishing, but he appreciated having an opportunity to do something productive and contribute to his team. He turned to face the campsite and wondered if “team” was an appropriate term.  
  
Phil vanished into darkness when he left the radiant glow of Zap's tail, only to emerge from shadow moments later with a smiling face half-obscured by the fish that he carried in his mouth as he approached a different, golden aura; one cast by low flames rising above a prone typhlosion's shoulders. Phil placed the fish beside Theodore and whistled to capture that typhlosion's attention.  
  
Using a two-pronged stick, thoroughly scorched in the line of duty, Theodore skewered Phil's delivery and flared his flame vents. The increased heat radiating from his shoulders compelled a nearby xatu to re-position herself slightly to her right, letting her master's body shield her own more thoroughly. Leaning against his back with her wings folded over his shoulders, Vera opened her beak slightly and faintly whispered something that only a member of her own species could fully understand.  
  
Curious of his opinion regarding the fish and how many more might be desired, before returning to Zap and the water's edge Phil hailed a dragonite named Hal, as most of the fish caught that night found their way into his stomach. Although his response sounded more like a growl than an appreciative gratuity for his dinner, owing to his attention being focused on gnawing through a burned patch on the fish that Theodore last finished cooking to a crisp, Hal vocalized his hopes for more, which Phil gladly agreed to provide. As a matter of tact, Hal refrained from suggesting that he would prefer nearly anything else edible that might avail. Wild dratini eat their fish raw, but Hal was hatched inside a cage and ate nothing but generic bagged kibble until he was liberated. Evolved fully before his first sushi experience, he never developed a taste for it. However, being on the road meant being on a budget, and free fish will silence a demanding belly as well as anything else might.  
  
Hal cast a glance toward his master, who was idly snacking on something tasty, tiny, and childish. Hal glanced away, remembered what the candy tasted like, and closed his eyes to drift away, napping despite sitting slightly slouched but otherwise upright, till his next fish would be ready.  
  


* * *

  
Scents of frying scales and a now emptied can of beans drifted northward, beyond the trainer's tent and into peripheral bushes. A sneasel wove through dense foliage and peeked around from behind that tent, finding those fragrances truly irresistible. Her thieving instincts' languishment brought on no atrophy and they guided her without a second thought. She saw a typhlosion between herself and the fish—not an option—but another scent caught her attention. She smelled berries inside the trainer's backpack. Which variety they might be did not matter to her; anything would do. She awaited her opportunity with a patience none familiar with her species would expect to find, needing only a few seconds without anyone looking her way. Silently she slunk around to the near edge of his tent and surveyed the entire scene. Evolved pokemon all of them she calculated, but none looked to be particularly observant. Having never seen a xatu before, she could not consider Vera's power of psychic perception. While the intruder finally planned her heist's execution, Vera cooed gently, putting both her trainer and his typhlosion on sly alert.  
  
Slowly creeping beyond the tent and targeting the unguarded backpack that lay next to a slightly scattered pile of opened pokeballs, she wore the campers' long shadows as camouflage and monitored their every motion as she approached. Distantly, Phil and Zap prepared to catch another fish. Hal seemed to be nodding off, his eyes closed and his antennae dangling low over his face. Vera appeared to be fully asleep. The trainer pecked slowly at a bagged snack, and Theodore rested on his belly with his eyes closed, humming an unfamiliar tune while neglecting the fish now burning black above his shoulders.  
  
The soon-to-be burglar's heart rate increased as she gently opened the trainer's backpack and found within it a fine bundle of berries. Thinking her heist a success, she slowly and quietly smuggled them beyond the tent. Theodore felt as though his body raised itself from the ground. His flames shortened and changed color with increasing temperature. Using a degree of stealth that rivaled the intruder's, he pulled his feet beneath him and pursued her with a careful gait; nearly-silent steps upon soft grass.  
  
Creeping along shadows with her back to her victims, the sneasel's eyes fixated forward as there remained nothing behind her that she both needed and could take without being caught by a trainer with a Fire-type again. A line of bushes stood only meters away. Beyond them lay escape, safety, and with stolen goods in-hand, her first complete meal that she could still remember. As those bushes' leaves began shining with a reflected light of all-too-familiar hue, she allowed her pace to slow and closed her eyes, knowing exactly what would come next.  
  
A fireball struck the ground just behind her, bursting with a force that swept her off of her feet. She landed upon her back, her vision blurred and body numbed. Her only sense that still functioned properly was that of smell, and all it offered was a reminder that her fur was now freshly singed again. Soon, a puff of breath extinguished a tiny flame that burned at the tip of a magenta feather grown above her left ear. She felt warmth as something lifted her from the ground, a sensation overwhelmed by nearby words pounding through her dizzied head.  
  
“Hey, Boss! We have a guest!” Theodore surrendered a dazed critter to his trainer. On one of his claws dangled remnants of a loosely-knitted bag. The berries within were ruined to most, but to Theodore, char was just another seasoning. Thus, regarding them lost to all but himself anyway, he dumped them into his mouth a few at a time while starting a campfire proper within a ring of stones used for that purpose countless times by journeying trainers in the past.  
  
Vera removed her wings from her master's shoulders and stepped away unnoticed, choosing to now stand opposite the fire from Hal's position, who—discounting an occasional twitching of his antennae—failed to respond to any of the recent activity, dozing peacefully in his seated position.  
  
The young man held the intruder with his hands beneath her arms and sat her across his left thigh, waiting for her to show a sign of regained consciousness. “Are you okay, little thief? Can you talk? My name is Vincent. Do you have a name and a trainer?”  
  
The sneasel, recovering her senses, thrashed weakly against the grip by which Vincent held her, but opening her eyes and seeing a Fire-type looming overhead paralyzed her with fear. Its face crept closer to her own until she flinched.  
  
“The boss asked you a question. You should give him an answer.”  
  
She squeaked out the word “no” twice in rapid succession.  
  
Theodore huffed, his breath warm enough to cause the sneasel to flinch again. “Is that ‘No’ to both questions, or ‘No,’ you won't answer?”  
  
Vincent nudged his starter. “Calm down and have a seat, Tio. I don't think ‘bad-cop’ is the way to go, here.” His attention returned to the smoldering creature. “You don't have a name or a trainer, so, you're wild? I've never heard of sneasels coming down this far from the mountains.”  
  
She could not look him in his eyes, glancing downward and away for a few moments. Hearing a low growl indicating that the Fire-type was becoming agitated, she reluctantly responded.  
  
“I was caught. I was,” she cringed and whimpered as she finished her sentence, “trained.”  
  
Vincent stood her up before himself, confident that she was in no condition to flee, even if Tio was not pinning her to the spot with his gaze. Without breaking that stare, Theodore sat beside Vincent and spoke with an indignant tone. “Were you trained to steal?”  
  
“No. I was trained,” she hesitated again at that word, “to be punished.” The sneasel began to tear up. Vincent looked up from her and saw Vera casting him a compassionate nod.  
  
With a whistle, Vincent called his team to attention, attracting Zap and Phil from the shoreline, and once they arrived with another lake harvest, bade the little thief to explain how she came to plunder his berries. “I would like to know your history before I make a decision about your future.”  
  
She still could not look up at him, but she knew well the penalty for disobedience.  
  
“I'm a runt. I was always small and weak. My pack got good at weeding out the weaklings, and one day, I was it. Unlike the others they killed, I was fast. Not the fastest, but fast enough to survive and get far enough away that they stopped following me. I didn't know how to hunt by myself and soon I was starving. I was looking for berries and when I pushed through a bush, I saw it.” The storyteller paused in thought for a moment. “A pidgey. I knew it had to be a trainer's. The strongest sneasels would talk about finding a trainer so they could become part of a trainer's pack and get even stronger. Part of me wanted to take that fat, slow pidgey's position in its pack, but most of me just wanted to eat. It hardly fought back and when it did I had already tasted its blood. It was a small bird, but I was proud of myself. It was my first kill alone. I thought its trainer would be impressed. I heard him walking up, shouting, and I turned to face him with a smile, but when I did all I saw was his boot coming at me.” She curled her left claws into a fist and tapped her jaw on the same side of her face.  
  
“When I woke up, I was sore all over. Many of my teeth were gone. He was sitting in a chair, slowly petting a ninetales. I had never been around humans before, so I didn't understand all the things he was saying at first, but over the years I pieced things together when he would yell at me or talk to his other pokemon or just to himself. He had that pidgey all his life. When he saw me killing it, he swore to make me suffer, and he did. Every night, he ‘trained’ me. He would take me out behind his cabin, send out one of his pokemon, and let it do whatever it wanted. The only rule was it couldn't kill me. It was a game; the more I was hurt, the better the reward his pokemon could earn. His ninetales would stand by him and watch to make sure I never really fought back or ran for the woods. If I did, it became Ninetales' night. Sometimes, when he was angry for whatever reason, it was Ninetales' night anyway.” The little thief began sobbing and knelt on the grass.  
  
“I'd know it was coming as soon as he got home, but he'd act normal till after dinner, and after he made—he would take the chain off of my ankle and throw me into a small back room. He'd say ‘nighty-night, you little shit’—uh, you asked if I had a name; that's the only name I've ever had, I think—then his ninetales would come in and he would lock the door behind him. He didn't watch, but I know he listened because his radio would be turned off and his ninetales always hurt me to make me scream and scream until I was too sore to scream anymore. Then, he would bite my neck and breathe that damn fox-fire over me to burn my lungs and choke me so I would pass out. In the morning, he would dump leftover coffee on me to wake me up and then he would jam a sitrus berry in my mouth. Berries were the only food I was ever given and it was just so I could get up and do his housework, starting by sponging up his coffee.”  
  
Her gaze averted from the grass she sat upon and turned straight into Vincent's eyes. Her voice raised to become emphatic. “Every day was like that. He would go to work and leave me with his ninetales watching me, waiting for me to break a rule. After he came home and had dinner and I finished washing his dishes, he would make me,” she gasped, paused, and continued, “then, it was time for training.” Tears welled in her eyes. She covered her face and cried again.  
  
Vincent's team members looked at each other, each one silently asking another if such a trainer could even exist. They met some cruel trainers on routes and in gyms from time to time, but none akin to the sadistic monster that this little thief described.  
  
Zap broke the silence. “How did you get away?”  
  
The little thief, for the first time that night since she saw Vincent's apparently-unguarded backpack, smiled a sly smile that conveyed almost boastful pride. That emotion sneaked into her voice. “I figured it out. While he was at work, I was on the chain. His ninetales would be snoozing most of the time. If I stopped working and let the chain stop making noise, he would hurt me, but I could dust the bookshelf all day without getting into trouble, and that's where my ball was. I got a screwdriver and bent its prongs a little to weaken it without messing it up. Fridays are special because he takes his team out for gym fights. He let his ninetales out to use the tree and that gave me a minute alone. I ran over to his berry jar and choked down an occa. They came back in, his ninetales blasted me, I pretended to be unconscious, and he put me in my ball. It took a while, but I forced it open. I broke it and I ran as fast as I could until I couldn't run anymore.” The pride faded and her words became monotone. “That was, uh, four days ago. I haven't found anything to eat since then. I smelled your fish, and I had to try.”  
  
Vincent reached inside his bag, withdrew an antiseptic spray, and hosed the sneasel down. It felt very cold and made the pain of her burn go away. Its comforting sensation startled her; she experienced for the first time a human doing something to her that made her feel better afterward.  
  
“Alright, little thief, here's the deal. I've got a fish here, and I'm going to give it to you. You can take it and run, and I won't stop you. I've also got this.” Vincent withdrew a luxury ball from his bag. “You can have this too, if you want it.”  
  
The sneasel picked up her fish and took a bite. For a moment, she savored the flavor of fresh meat as it linked her present with her distant past. She looked at the luxury ball and then to its holder as she chewed on the right side of her mouth.  
  
Vincent's expression seemed light, but serious. “It's a very pretty ball, so if you choose to take it, you're going to promise never to break it.”  
  
Her freedom had not been kind to her, but she was not expecting to surrender it again so quickly and she stepped back a pace. A clear path to the bushes extended before her, and she held a fish in her hands, from which she tore away another bite. The temptation was strong.  
  
Zap leaned closer to Vera and muttered, “I bet she's gonna scoot.”  
  
Vera closed her eyes halfway as her pupils contracted. “He can still save her life.”  
  
Vincent overheard her, recalled the sneasel's words, and got an idea. He looked toward Vera and saw her already nodding with approval.  
  
“Let me offer you one more thing before you go. You can keep the fish either way. You said that you've never won a fight except against a pet pidgey. Would you feel better about yourself if you knew you once knocked out a trained dragon?”  
  
Hal opened his eyes and groaned. Ice attacks robbed him of his consciousness many times in his past, and tonight his master asks him to job out a fight to improve the self-esteem of a burglar. It was not the way he wanted to end any evening, but he trusted Vincent's intentions and remembered again how his origin story compared to hers as he stood to take a fighting stance.  
  
The sneasel stuttered when she looked up at the dragonite, standing almost four times her height but seemingly six as he towered above her. “You—you want me to fight him? Ten fish for losing wouldn't be worth it!”  
  
Vincent rummaged through his bag again. “Here, try wearing this. I won it in a poker game. It looks like your style.” He tossed a razor claw onto the ground near her feet.  
  
The thief looked at the claw, at the human, at the team, and at the bushes. She picked up that weapon and looked back toward Vincent again. He wore a sly smile, the smile of one of her own kind when knowing that a plan was about to succeed. She knew that she wanted to see what was behind it. Even if she took a beating, it would not be the first time that she had taken a beating to entertain a cruel human. With the claw equipped, she charged toward Hal's wall of orange scales. The scratch she delivered hardly stung at all.  
  
“Wow. She really is weak.” Hal intended his words to be matter-of-fact, but they were almost enough to make the little thief break down in despair. With a sharp breath, she managed to limit her reaction to a soured facial expression. She was so weak that even a phony fight that she was supposed to somehow win seemed hopeless. Grabbing the fish and fleeing felt like her best bet, but as she turned, she saw Vincent rotating the luxury ball in his left hand, staring into her eyes.  
  
He tapped the ball twice with his index finger. “Don't give up.”  
  
She didn't.  
  
The sneasel threw herself at Hal relentlessly, while he yawned and soaked up her hits. After about three minutes, he reached down and planted his left palm upon her head, covering most of it. She trembled slightly, unsure what his grip would do next. Hal rubbed the inside of his thigh with his right paw and verified that she indeed managed to wound him. He licked his blood from his stubby fingers and released the sneasel, gesturing an invitation for her to continue attacking. Her next slash lacked vigor, as being halted took from her what little energy her momentum carried. She had yet not eaten anything but a couple bites of fish since escaping, and this exertion completely exhausted her, ruining her focus. Her mind struggled to remember her old life when she was fighting alongside the pack that rejected her. Envisioning the attacks used by her leaders, an aged memory came to mind. She and her pack once fought a dragon, a disoriented garchomp that was far from its home. When they attacked, the leaders called out only one command, “Use Ice!”  
  
Vincent and his team watched dejectedly as the little thief began stumbling about and missing her broad target, muttering something indistinct in her natural tongue. Despite the pathetic display that her body put on, within her mind's eye, she was a leader of her pack, doing what she remembered they did. Her imagination took over. With the last of her stamina, she formed a cloud of frost around her knuckles and gave that garchomp everything she had left, falling to her knees as her swing connected.  
  
Hal grunted, his eyes twitched, and his knees buckled. Theodore leapt onto the battlefield and dove in to shove the sneasel aside, just in time to save her from being crushed by the collapsing dragon and to get pinned himself beneath Hal's bulk.  
  
The little thief managed to stand again and catch her breath. She looked back at the dragonite she vanquished. He was not fighting back, but it felt good to bring him down, nonetheless; to know that she had the required strength somewhere deep within her. She stumbled over to Vincent, not knowing what to say after winning a fight for a trainer.  
  
That trainer maintained his smirk as he glanced across to watch Theodore struggle his way out from beneath Hal, before looking back toward the sneasel. “That fish is still yours. You just need to tell me your decision regarding this ball.”  
  
She winced. Damn him for asking her again to surrender her freedom. And, why should she? So he let her win a rigged fight; big deal. She knew now how to throw an ice-punch. She could probably hunt for herself, at least as long as she got the drop on her game. That, she knew she could manage. She did not need a trainer. She had speed, stealth, freedom, and a headache. It came on quickly and would not let up. It felt like something boiling within her and would soon make her burst at the seams. Her hold on the razor claw faded and she staggered backward, gripping her head as the singed feather above her left ear fell away cleanly.  
  
Vincent's team quickly became concerned. Evolution was often traumatic, but this scene began looking more like torture than transformation as she failed to show any obvious signs of development. Zap spoke first, and for everyone, “Vera, what's wrong with her?”  
  
The xatu laid the writhing sneasel flat upon the grass and placed a hand upon her forehead, hiding the creature beneath spread feathers. “This is bad. Her body is trying to evolve, but she doesn't have enough energy to grow. I think it's because of undernourishment. She needs food and water, now, or she may die, or become trapped between forms.” Vera closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment that seemed much longer than it was. “He can still save her life.”  
  
Vincent thought for a second and started digging through his bag again. He threw an empty can of beans toward his vaporeon. “Phil! Water, fast!”  
  
Phil filled the can with fresh, pure water as quickly as Zap could pour it into the sneasel, although much more spilled around her than into her.  
  
Vincent ran over to her and slid into position like a ball-player coming home. “She would choke to death before we could get real food in her, but maybe she can swallow this.” He unwrapped a rare candy and showed it to Vera, who nodded approvingly. He forced it inside the sneasel's mouth and clasped his hands over her face so she could not spit it out. Zap leaned over and touched his head's gem against the sneasel's and gave her a tiny jolt to force her to swallow it.  
  
She shuddered, groaned, curled over onto her side, and lay still for a moment before bolting upright. A crown of feathers began sprouting from her brow as she scrambled to her feet and ran into the darkness toward the waterfront, tripping and shrieking in agony as her development proceeded.  
  
The team watched a moonlit-traced form lying beside the lake as it slowly gathered itself up, jostling a few cat-tails as it rose. It looked at its faint shadow's shape and gasped before throwing an ice-punch that glanced the lake's surface. A moment later, a plate of ice marched up a gentle grade toward Vincent's campsite, illuminated by a small fire and a generous ampharos to provide a full-body mirror necessary for the little thief to take in her new appearance.  
  
“No—yes—it's—I'm—.” As she pressed her forehead against the frozen surface, her babbling stopped suddenly to be replaced by diabolical laughter that echoed through the still night air over Lake Myrcene East and into Allylidene Forest, startling an owl to take flight.  
  
Theodore's shoulders ignited instinctively.  
  
Her laughter slowly transformed back into language as she held her mirror before herself again for a second look. “It's really me. I'm bigger. I'm stronger. I—I have all my teeth again! Heh-heh, it's finally my turn. I can finally have my revenge!” Her gaze snapped instantly from her reflection to Vincent, “Trainer!”  
  
Theodore's flames began climbing as he dug his feet into the soil, but he performed a double-take when he noticed Vera shaking her head in disapproval with such speed that she seemed to be vibrating.  
  
The no-longer-little thief discarded her mirror carelessly before slowly turning to fully face Vincent, extending her clawed arms forward and pointing at him with her right. “You did this to me. You turned me into the killing machine that every sneasel wishes to become. And, for that, you need to get what you have coming to you.”  
  
A few feet away, Theodore gestured at the feather-crowned demon with both of his paws while melodramatically mouthing his words of suspicion, but Vera remained confident in her prediction. The xatu's track record proved her reliability, yet Theodore could not bear a possibility of something happening to his best friend. When the demon grinned and lunged at Vincent, he leapt behind her, ready to unleash the fires of the sixth, seventh, and eighth circles of Hell upon her, only to stumble and pause, hearing sounds of tearful laughter as she made contact.  
  
After their collision, Vincent lay knocked-over on the ground, wrapped tightly by the arms of a newly-minted weavile.  
  
Once more, her laughter turned into language. “You did it to me. The only dream I've ever had other than escaping that damn cabin and you made it happen.”  
  
Vera blew out the low flames on Theodore's shoulders like birthday candles, wrapped her left wing around him, and whispered into his ear, “He has saved her life, but our family will not change in size,” before stepping away, picking up a singed feather from the ground and tucking it into a small bag hung beneath her right wing, and flying off to find a suitable place to roost for the night.  
  
Vincent helped himself back up once he convinced the weavile to release him. “Tio, I can't tell if you are confused or upset.”  
  
His typhlosion began to speak, but reconsidered his statement and found something else to say as he passed by The Boss and ducked into their tent. “A little of both. I think I'll sleep on it.”  
  
Vincent stoked a diminishing campfire. “You wouldn't mind catching another fish, would you, guys?”  
  
Zap faked a smile. “No problem, Vince, if Philly's up to it.” Phil was already exiting the lights of both ampharos and campfire when Zap finished his sentence.  
  
The weavile approached Vincent from behind on unsteady feet. “Did I eat your fish?”  
  
Vincent sacrificed half of the two-pronged stick to feed his fire. “What do you mean?”  
  
“The one you gave me. Was that supposed to be yours?”  
  
Vincent turned to face her. “I wasn't going to eat it, if that's what you're asking. Why?”  
  
“You ordered them to get another fish, so I thought it was to replace the one you gave me.”  
  
“I asked them to get another fish; for you.”  
  
The weavile's jaw fell slack. “But—but I'm—newest, lowest—”  
  
“Hungriest.” Behind him, a faint crackle, a bright flash, a big splash, and a rustling in the weeds.  
  


* * *

  
The weavile felt slightly embarrassed as three pairs of eyes watched her eat. She tried to divert attention by asking of Hal's condition before drinking dry another bean-can's worth of water. “Is he going to be okay? I didn't think I hit him that hard.”  
  
Vincent glanced over at the still-collapsed lizard. “He can't handle anything Ice. It's a dragon thing, but he's got it worse than most.” He turned toward Phil and Zap. “See if you can get him into the lake so he can sleep it off comfortably.”  
  
Phil whistled and blasted Hal's face with a stream of pure water to awaken him enough that, with Zap's assistance, he could drag himself down to the shoreline. He rested best with his body supported by aquatic buoyancy. As payment for a full stomach, Hal permitted Phil to climb aboard and lie upon his belly, tail drifting and swaying in the water alongside them.  
  
Zap returned from the lake and unleashed a contagious yawn that quickly spread, making the remaining campers unanimously agree that it was time to retire. Zap settled in near the flap of his trainer's tent and dimmed to night-light level while watching their campfire's embers fade away. “Now that we have six, maybe,” he thought, before counting mareep and falling asleep.  
  
Theodore, Vincent, and the weavile packed tightly inside a tent hired at a reasonable rate from Fenchone Pokecenter. Tio and The Boss slept together for years, ever since the then-cyndaquil became gravely ill and his young master refused to leave his side, but accommodating a third bed-mate was quite unusual.  
  
The weavile snuggled closely against Vincent's torso, resting her head upon his left shoulder. “They don't know how good this feels.”  
  
Vincent was half-asleep, and half-vocalized his response, “They don't?”  
  
“No. To lie down and go to sleep. If I could even remember, I could count on my claws how many times I've just gone to sleep since he captured me. Every night—every single night—I was put to bed by being beaten or burned until I couldn't,” she almost teared up again. “But not tonight, and when I wake up, I'm not going to be scalded with cheap coffee, and—and I'm going to eat actual food for breakfast, right?” She looked at Vincent hopefully, and he nodded approvingly. “Your pokemon don't know how good this feels.” The weavile struggled to snuggle even more closely than she possibly could.  
  
Vincent, now fully awake, commented, “You know, with all that excitement you gave us when you evolved up, you didn't tell me if you want me to catch you or not. You ate your fish, but you are still free to go.”  
  
Her eyes burst open. “Yes! No. I want,” she flipped over to stand on all four and look him in his eyes. “Will you promise to let me fight and become someone I can be proud of? I don't want to be a trophy trapped in a ball forever like the dozens he had on his shelves.”  
  
Vincent reached up and rested his left hand on the back of her head. Her body stiffened instantly and she whimpered very faintly. In the near-perfect darkness, he could not see her facial expression. “I'm not that kind of trainer. I don't trap pokemon for sport or status. I don't even walk with six pokemon, yet.” A gentle emphasis underscored that he expected her to choose.  
  
She smiled faintly and settled back down. “First thing, tomorrow. Just wait, I'm going to make you proud of me.” The weavile reached across Vincent's chest and bumped into Theodore's paw.  
  
The typhlosion spoke up. “She's going to need a name. I don't think what she was called in her story would be appropriate.”  
  
Vincent asked the weavile if she knew a name that she wanted, but the only human-language names she knew were ones she once heard coming out of her captor's radio, and she did not know which of those would be a good fit for herself. “I think I want you to give me one.”  
  
He closed his eyes. “Okay, first thing that comes to mind; girl's name. ‘Fiona,’ are you happy with that?”  
  
Fiona hummed twice in a high tone.  
  
Theodore groaned. “Boss, if you enter us into a double match, just promise you won't register us as ‘Tio and Fio,’ okay?”  
  


* * *

 


	2. Mischievous

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 2: Mischievous.  
  


* * *

  
The sun approached the horizon from beneath, forcing a new morning sky to glow bright and gold as it emerged. Vera's pupils reduced to pin-holes as she stared into its glory from atop a mighty tree. A vision came to her, breaking her concentration and causing her eyes to dilate, letting the sun momentarily blind her as she twisted away and covered her face with her left wing. “I cannot fly there in time to prevent this,” she commented to herself while her sight returned.  
  
Turning westward, she flew back to the town her friends so recently left and alerted Fenchone Plantation's pokecenter staff that her trainer would soon arrive with a minor injury, requesting that they keep a room readied and retain a doctor rather than call for one once their patient arrived. She knew that her request would be granted at the price of a few simple readings performed for members of the center's staff.  
  


* * *

  
His coffee felt as thick and heavy as molasses, and burned like a powerful acid. Fiona rubbed her eyes to see her tormentor and his ninetales standing tall above her. She was back on the chain.  
  
“I told you before: you can't escape, you little shit.” The hiker crouched beside her and leaned in closely. “I think you need to be trained double from now on. It'll cost me a small fortune buying revival salts, but what is a couple grand a year when it means getting to see you jerked out of your beauty sleep to receive a second wallop?” His ninetales leaned in closely, too. She could feel the fox's hot breath ruffling her fur and feathers.  
  
The hiker began shouting at her. “Get up! Get up, Fiona! We've got things to do today.” She felt the hiker place his hand on her. She knew that meant he was going to beat her personally this time, and she lost control of her bladder. This was a shock to her, since she rarely was given enough water to urinate properly, but she had received plenty of water the night before, during and after her evolution. He released her, leaned back, and said something indistinct to his ninetales, but she knew what it had to be, something along the lines of, “What a lazy little shit, tear her to pieces for me.” The two leaned in again. “Hey, can you hear me? Wake up, you're hav—”  
  
Fiona screamed, extended her claws, and slashed the hiker across his face, yelling, “I'm not a little shit! Not anymore, and—” she clasped her hands across her mouth.  
  
Theodore glared at her with daggers in his eyes as he shoved Vincent out of their tent to tend to his wound. Together they half-collided with Zap, who bleated as he struggled to get up and out of their way. Crouching and shaking, Fiona looked first at a drop of blood tipping her claw, then at a puddle on her master's bedding, before squealing, ashamed. When she regained her composure and peeked through the tent's flaps, she saw Hal and Theodore tending to Vincent. The line she put across his cheek was luckily superficial, no more than a cat-scratch, but his nose suffered a deep cut. Theodore and Hal each took a turn sifting through Vincent's backpack, equally unsuccessful in finding any first-aid products that would be useful to a human.  
  
With a growling groan, Hal pinched a few scales from the tip of his tail, permanently revealing placid blue flesh beneath, and stuck the gooey patch that he removed onto his master's nose. “That will hold the wound shut, but we gotta take you back to town and get a doctor on it.”  
  
Zap, still standing near their tent, startled Fiona when he spoke. “You ought to be more careful. It's not nice to surprise-attack a friend like that.”  
  
Vincent threw his hands into the air, “Only half a day each way, right?”  
  
Fiona approached him slowly and nervously. “I'm so sorry, Master, I, I thought you were, I heard you talking but I saw him and it felt so real, and I, I went, I—”  
  
Vincent barked an order at her. “Close your eyes.” She obeyed, and he activated a luxury ball.  
  


* * *

  
With his entire team, save his surfing vaporeon, recalled, Vincent held on tightly as Phil skimmed along the channel that connected both halves of Lake Myrcene toward an array of windmills that stood tall but distant. To their fortune, Vincent's repel supply held out until Phil and his charge entered Fenchone Plantation via a small, neglected dock that leaned into the waterway.  
  
Returned to dry land, none of the trainers whose paths they crossed along the town's outskirts were rude enough to bully a wounded man into a field battle. Even a skinhead biker wearing an eye-patch let him pass—after petting Phil, who bravely approached the man—and after having a good laugh at discovering that this young trainer's bleeding nose resulted from getting slashed by his new weavile who had a nightmare and pissed his bedroll.  
  
After passing by a few small, but well-maintained and beautiful, gardens that surrounded the town, Vincent and Phil discovered their destination indicated by a familiar xatu standing upon a tall rotating pokecenter signpost. A prepared medical team ambushed Vincent as he entered the building. He released Theodore and narrowly tossed him his ball belt before being ushered into an examination room. Theodore recalled Phil, approached the reception counter, and laid his team members upon it.  
  
The nurse on-duty rotated in her chair and rolled her eyes. “I know that teaching pokemon to speak is all the rage, but that doesn't make you a human being.”  
  
Theodore wanted to make a joke about her age and old-fashioned viewpoint, but let tact prevail. He advanced the luxury ball. “The Boss wants to register this pokemon for some dumb reason. It's a runaway with no name, but he started calling her ‘Fiona.’ ”  
  
The nurse placed Fiona's new ball into a rejuvenator. Its healing phase ran for much longer than usual. As it conducted its business, the nurse's terminal activated and displayed diagnostic information. “Well, according to our records, this pokemon was captured in a different ball six years ago. That ball's serial number is on file as sold, but it was never taken to a center or registered using any trainer's field device, so there's no telling who trapped this pokemon with it. All I have is the status information from the previous ball's wireless, and—oh, my. The history is nothing more than a ‘recall/fainted’ or ‘recall/burned’ every week. Zero center visits.” The nurse activated Fiona's new ball, causing her to reconstitute atop the counter. She was shocked to find herself inside a building, and happy that it was not a cabin.  
  
Fiona said “hello” meekly and half-waved to the nurse, trying to be polite without her gesture being mistaken as threatening, remembering that one of her right hand's claws was still painted crimson.  
  
The old nurse showed no reaction. “The owner of this ball apparently wants to register you as his pokemon. Since you were previously captured with an anonymously-owned ball and its log ends with a ball-break, I need to ask if you were released deliberately or if your previous owner would still claim you.”  
  
Fiona jumped up and shouted, “No! I broke that ball and that makes me not-his anymore and I'm never going to let him or his damn ninetales touch me again!”  
  
The old nurse arched an eyebrow before entering a few commands into her terminal. “Congratulations, then. You are now the property of whoever owns the ball that this unattended typhlosion wandered in here with. Take these papers and give them to,” the nurse waved her right hand carelessly while glancing away from the two pokemon and reaching for her coffee mug, “anyone you like. I swear, I miss the good old days of one-way communication.”  
  


* * *

  
Doctor Fulton leaned back against his chair. “Okay, you're all set. Just don't touch it for the rest of the day and it should heal up flawlessly. I've never seen dragon scales used that way before. You should thank your dratini's fast thinking to use its shed-skin ability and make a bandage with natural healing properties for you. You would have required stitches and had a small scar without it.”  
  
Vincent scratched his head. “Hal is fully evolved. I didn't know they could still use their old abilities.”  
  
The doctor looked puzzled for a moment. “I guess you should thank him twice, then, because as far as I know, they can't. So, he must have actually peeled some of his skin off to help you.”  
  
The trainer hopped off of the exam table. “Wow. I will.”  
  
As soon as Vincent stepped into the center's lobby, a weavile's arms wrapped around his abdomen and pulled him off-balance. “It's official and everything! Take me to a gym, I wanna get some fights out of me!”  
  
Fiona's new trainer shrugged and agreed. “Today is pretty much shot anyway, we're not in a hurry for anything, and we are in town, so why not?”  
  


* * *

  
Fenchone Gym was running open-entry, one-on-one ladders to fill eight brackets that would compete for a shot at dueling the gym leader's champion that night. Fiona started her official league record off right with more wins than losses in the first-timers matches. After her fifth win, she complained of being light-headed for a moment, before straightening up and asking Vincent if he somehow did something to her. He did not respond immediately. Not knowing enough about Fiona's abilities to guide her battles any better than she could herself, he just let her have fun while he read printouts that the old nurse prepared for him. It included a summary of Fiona's previous ball's statistics and relevant species information from the public-access national pokedex service. “Oh, uh, I think that's just the sensation of you getting stronger. You're new to competitive fighting, so you'll probably feel that a few more times in the coming days.”  
  
Theodore butted in, “Enjoy it while it lasts. You only get so many of 'em. Then, you only have mating to look forward to when you want a quick high.”  
  
Fiona was not listening, distracted by her own thoughts. “I feel taller. Do I look taller? I want to be taller. Can I evolve again and get taller?”  
  
Vincent ruffled her crown feathers. “I don't think so, but you can dream about it. Two of your dreams came true this week. Unlikely as it is, you might as well keep trying, right?”  
  
Fiona was not listening, instead watching one of the other trainers tending to his pokemon, giving it pills from a bottle. “Hey, what are those?”  
  
Theodore glanced over, and slipped into an impression. “Vitamins. Looks like calcium; good for the bones, good for the kids. T pities the fool who doesn't have enough minerals in his diet.”  
  
She did not understand the reference, and looked to her trainer with begging eyes. “Will they make me stronger?”  
  
Vincent did not look away from his papers. “They could, since you're new to fighting.”  
  
She raised up onto her toes, letting break a sly smile. “Will they make me taller?”  
  
Vincent realized she would get the attention that she wanted one way or another, and laid his papers on the table as he faced her. “Probably not, but I can't say that they won't.”  
  
“I want some; just to see if they'll make me better!” Her smile transformed from sly to feline.  
  
He could not say “no” to that face, although he knew that he needed to. Besides, it would not do for her to ply her natural talents for acquisition here as an alternative. “Fine, but I'll have to find a place that sells them.”  
  
Fiona's ears perked hearing both Vincent's assent and announcements calling next-round contestants to attention. “Don't worry. When you get back I will have won all the fights and you'll be proud of me!” she shouted as she ran off toward the combat circles.  
  


* * *

  
Fenchone's department store proved far less humble on its inside than it appeared to be from without, and offered a variety of general merchandise, including music. Vincent released Zap and offered him ten minutes to browse by himself. Most of that time was spent trying to find someone with a key to unlock the silvered prison that protected their pokemon drugs from theft. Once Vincent noticed their prices, he felt like he was the one being robbed. “Those things cost forty-two quid each? That ought to buy a case!”  
  
The clerk had heard that complaint in various forms countless times before. “If you want them cheaper, go butter up a champion to go to Battle Frontier and win some for you, or go earn enough badges to get into B.F. yourself.”  
  
Vincent paid for the pills and Theodore made his point by melodramatically tightening his imaginary belt. Zap awaited them near the main doors. “Nothing but new music; thanks, though. What did you buy?”  
  
Theodore spoke in a low tone. “You don't want to know.”  
  
Zap sighed. “I see. I don't want to walk, either. I was having a good dream.”  
  
Vincent recalled his yawning ampharos and with Tio beside him walked back to Fenchone Gym. Along the way, they overheard bits of conversations as people passed by on the street, all referencing a recent incident involving a weavile without a trainer. Vincent entered the gym unnoticed, but when Theodore stepped inside behind him, a half-dozen trainers pointed and said, “She came in with them!”  
  
The event coordinator approached with Vincent's trainer card in-hand. “I'll make this short and sweet. You are suspended from all registered competition for fifteen days, and banned from this gym for three months. You already have our badge, so don't bother us with an appeal.”  
  
Vincent received his card and ran his thumb over a punch along its edge indicating a League warning. “Should I ask what she did?”  
  
The coordinator walked Vincent and Theodore through the rear hallways while reciting a list of minor fouls and major breaches of conduct: attacking before being signaled, physically dragging non-participant pokemon into circles between rounds, and even joining into double matches to “even things up” when one team was down to its last fighter. The coordinator had more to say but accepted their arrival at a door near the end of the deepest hall as an excuse to discontinue. Through a window in the door, Vincent saw Fiona strapped to a gurney.  
  
The coordinator explained, “She wouldn't stop causing trouble, she wouldn't listen to anyone's commands, and her trainer wasn't here, so we used a tranquilizer dart. I was concerned it would be an overdose since that stuff is for stopping rhydons, but she has already regained consciousness. You've got a nightmare on your hands. Just take her out of here and don't come back to visit when your official ban expires, either.”  
  
Vincent approached Fiona, who drooled like a gloom until she noticed him standing beside her.  
  
“Massssta Vinnnie! You shhhhouls've seen me! I beat 'em all and then I beat thhhheir asses and their asses' asses.”  
  
Her trainer unfastened some straps and began gathering her up.  
  
“I told you you would you'd proud of… beat asses! Haaaaaaaaa—whooo! I'm flying now, whhheeeee!”  
  
She kicked her feet and swung her arms around as he carried her over his shoulder and arm, making his way to the pokecenter. Word traveled around town swiftly and the trainer was met with a combination of cheers and jeers; jeers from other trainers whose day at the gym was disrupted, cheers from spectators who enjoyed the show that Fiona had given them. A cycle in the center's restoration machine left Fiona in a rational state of mind, but with a pounding headache that a tablet could not quite tackle, although it did help. Vincent returned her to her luxury ball and released Phil. “Alright guys, a quick stop at the market again to get another can of repellent and then we're off. I'd like to get back to camp posthaste.”  
  
Vincent deliberated as he looked at his options. The larger cans cost more per volume for some reason, yet to afford two of the slightly-smaller ones meant further straining his budget and backpack. Although not wealthy, especially in comparison to one of his friends, he was not one to worry about finances under normal circumstances. The high price of trainer products reminded him of his disdainful opinion of those whom he felt took competition too seriously while putting him in an uncomfortably unfamiliar budgetary situation. Vincent selected the larger can and turned to approach a cashier only to find himself facing a familiar pokemon who silently positioned herself beside him while he performed mental arithmetic on the price tags.  
  
“You're far too grown-up to be wasting your money on temporary solutions like the juvenile trainers do.” Vera withdrew an arcane slip of paper, laminated within thick plastic, from her purse.  
  
Vincent gave it a quizzical look, then he gave the same to Vera.  
  
She mocked it for a split-second to tease him. “I foresaw a few unique opportunities today, and thought you would appreciate my taking advantage of this one. Lend this cleanse tag to Phil and your journey along the water will be uninterrupted.” Vera swiftly exited, but took one moment to sneak up behind Theodore, who was entranced by a demonstration television, and pinch his ears. “You watch enough of that during the off-season, Theodore. This store sells books, too.”  
  


* * *

  
Theodore returned to his ball when he, Vincent, and Phil approached the disheveled docks. Vincent dug through his bag and withdrew a small collar, attached the cleanse tag, and drew it around Phil's neck, hiding it behind the vaporeon's natural frill. They set off along the path they came by, and as foretold, their trip was not delayed by any encounters with the river's wildlife. They re-established camp where it was the night before, at the cost of having half of the evening already passed before getting there. While the others worked in silence, contemplating what Vincent's suspension would mean for this summer's League journey, Fiona sat quietly, nursing her headache and reflecting.  
  
“Fifteen days,” she grumbled, “I didn't make you proud of me at all, did I?” She was beginning to realize what an ass she had made of herself during her debut when Vincent presented her with her gift, hoping to cheer her up.  
  
Phil, Zap, and Theodore dutifully cleaned The Boss's bedroll. When Zap saw the vitamin bottle, he snapped, and flashed the entire team, except for Vera, who knew when to cover her eyes. “Damn it, Vince! Did she steal your berries when she stole your berries? You release me tonight so I can help clean these sheets that she pissed all over, to find out we can't compete in League for two weeks because she has less manners than a stag in rut, and you punish her by buying her vitamins on our budget? Except for Tio, have you ever spent that much money on any of us?”  
  
Theodore scowled at the ram, and halved the distance between them. Although he seemed to have words form him, they emerged only as wisps from his flame vents. Glancing back, Zap's cranial gem threw off a few small sparks in kind. No one spoke for a quarter minute. Hal approached Zap and hoped to calm him down, reaching out to him with his heavy hand.  
  
Zap slapped it away, allowing an arc of static to bridge across his horns, before shooting Hal, and then Phil, a dirty look. He took a couple of steps to near Vincent and continue his monologue. “I've been with you for years. You said you wanted to shoot for the top and I wanted to, too. Then, you stalled and you procrastinated. Then, this turned into The Tio, Hal, and Phil Show. I sit around being your glow bug while you and your favorite three do all the fighting. The only time I see action is if a big water hits the ring, or you need someone to get clobbered while you figure out how to win with one of the pokemon you actually care about. You do that to Vera, these days, too. When was the last time she was conscious at the end of a battle she was involved in?” He turned to the green bird and asked her when.  
  
Vera approached Zap slowly, looked into his eyes, and touched his cheek as though she were saying goodbye, before stepping backwards and sitting beside her trainer. “I chose to be a part of this team. I followed Vincent throughout his visit to the ruins and I persisted until he understood my decision and captured me. I foresaw exactly what my station would be, and while our stations on this team are similar, Zap, our emotions regarding them are not.” Zap's tail fell limp and its orb darkened. “I am compassionate for you, knowing that you expected me to support your position, but I do not feel the way that you do.”  
  
Vincent threw Zap's opened pokeball to him. “You know how it works. This decision is yours.”  
  
Zap looked it over for some time, before taking one half into his mouth and twisting the other half sideways to break his premiere ball's hinge. Hal tried to call the ampharos's name, but while his breath moved, no audible sound came out. As Zap walked eastward toward the next town, Vincent called out to him with one final message as his trainer. “For what it's worth, I kept you out of battle because you were getting knocked out more than anyone else on my team. You are slow, and you will still be slow tomorrow, but tomorrow your friends won't be near enough to watch your back for you.”  
  
Zap's tail gem blinked twice, slowly and faintly, before disappearing into the foliage.  
  
Theodore set a campfire and his team split a can of beans in silence before retiring. There was nothing useful to say. Vincent, Theodore, and Fiona took their positions inside the tent. Tio fell asleep immediately, but the girl lay restless. “I never really had friends until now, and I've lost one already, haven't I?”  
  
Vincent hugged her gently with his left arm. “I guess so, but not really. Zap is still our friend; he is just walking a different path. There is a difference between walking together and just walking the same way at the same time, but you can't really tell until someone changes direction.”  
  
All three fell asleep a minute later.  
  


* * *

  
Fiona scrunched her face and rubbed her eyes. Sunlight through the window shined a brilliant white, accenting the white of her nightgown and the sheets of her bed. She descended a flight of stairs and trotted into an unfamiliar kitchen where she saw Vincent dressed for work, sitting at a white table. She bent down slightly and squeezed his shoulders as she walked by. “Why didn't you wake me? You have to leave in five minutes. I hardly get to see you when you let me sleep in.”  
  
Vincent set his blank, white newspaper on the white table. “Maybe I'd rather spend five minutes with a happy, well-rested weavile than an hour or two with a grouchy one?”  
  
She rolled up the paper and tapped his head with it as Theodore surfed down the stairs on the pads of his feet. In impression mode again, he announced, “Coffee: wakes you up so you can make the grade. T pities the fool who sleeps through homeroom.”  
  
Vince chuckled lightly. Fiona wondered what made that funny. Theodore poured a mug and went into the neighboring room to flop onto a couch and watch whatever drivel aired on morning television.  
  
“Alright,” Vince glanced at his watch, “I've gotta get out of here. I'll spin by at lunch time, though, so you better not be out picking fights with school kids who think their rattatas are ready for the big time.”  
  
She stood on her toes to reach his level and they shared a quick kiss. Fiona thanked the calcium for those extra inches she once wished for.  
  
After the door shut behind him, Fiona returned her attention to the kitchen counter and spoke loudly to be heard in the neighboring room. “Hey, Tio; I'm going to make some toast. Want some?”  
  
Theodore rarely turned down food, but she heard no response at all from the den. Instead, a voice she never wanted to hear again replied as she walked in to investigate.  
  
“That fat badger won't be helping anyone for the next six hours or so. My tyranitar saw to that.” The hiker stepped out of the rear corner of that room, causing Fiona to retreat. “I told you before. You can't escape, you little shit!” Even without his height advantage, looking upon him brought back at once all the years of his torments. She slid back along the kitchen counter's edge and quickly regretted noticing, and glancing at, a coffee pot.  
  
He cracked a smile at her expression. “Ha, I'm surprised you would even have this stuff in your house. Maybe you learned to like it. Let's find out.”  
  
Now backed into a corner, Fiona tried to get around to the other side of the table, but the hiker responded quickly. She collapsed to the floor with a shriek as the coffee scalded her entire back.  
  
The hiker put on a disappointed frown. “I guess the jury is still out on that. Anyway, it looks like you have some cleaning up to do.” The hiker picked up a white sponge from beside the sink and flung it at a whimpering creature. “You know the drill, and, here comes the sergeant.”  
  
A massive paw burst through one wall of the kitchen, lifting the house's roof away as though it were simply a lid. Fiona looked up to see the titanic face of a ninetales that must have stood forty feet tall at his shoulder hovering above the new opening. The monster gave her a particularly-voiced bark; one that frequently introduced his most painful attacks. This time, however, he did so just for the fun of watching it make her cower in fear. It was effective, and she immediately began to lose control of herself. However, this time she did not feel ashamed, but instead, angry. She knew now the flavor of freedom and friendship and refused to surrender it without a fight.  
  
The hiker looked up toward his ninetales. “Look at the little shit.” He addressed the weavile again, “What are you making a mess like that for? We haven't even started yet! Save it for when we give you something to really be afraid of.” The hiker began unfastening his belt. “Something like this…”  
  
Fiona did not give him a chance to reveal what the “this” would be. As he took a step toward her, she kicked a white chair into the hiker's knee, scrambled to her feet, and slammed him against the white kitchen counter, pinning his arms behind himself. “You know what? This reminds me of something; something from a long time ago. One day, I was in the forest and I found a little bird, and I was hungry. So, when the care-free, pampered, fat little bird was busy chirping at nothing, I pounced, and I pinned its wings behind its back, and then I reached around like I'm doing to you right now. See, I put my claws right here, so I can puncture your lungs and you can't make any more sound, while I do things to you, like, maybe take a bite out of your neck—”  
  
The hiker began to yell as he felt the weavile's claws slowly digging through his flesh and spreading his ribs as they pierced deeply into his chest. Fiona paused briefly when she heard Vincent's voice call out for her to stop.  
  
“I'm sorry, Vinny, but I have to end this. I have to kill him. It's the only way for me to be safe.” She groaned with effort as her claws burrowed into the hiker's chest, rendering him mute as she began tearing the man apart, just as she once pierced his pidgey on the day that changed her life. Everything once white instead shone red with wet blood. The ninetales' angry muzzle hovered motionlessly. Vincent put his knuckles on the table as Fiona concluded her furious assault and leaned against the kitchen counter, crying and laughing at the same time, before licking some of the hiker's blood from her claws.  
  
Vincent looked at the ruin of a man, and then at the animal he once felt was worthy of rescuing; of a chance to begin a new life. He spoke with a harsh tone. “Is that it? Is that what you needed to do?”  
  
Fiona squared her weight upon her wrists planted upon the edge of the counter and lifted herself up enough to kick her legs out and wiggle her toes. “I am—was—a sneasel. We like tearing things up; but, no.” She planted her feet upon the floor and began approaching her master with a slightly slinky gait. “Mostly, just knowing he'll never hurt me again is what feels good.” She reached her blood-soaked arms out to him, looking for a hug.  
  
Vincent stood up straight and took her arms by their wrists. “Good, because I don't want to need to buy a new pillow every time you have a bad dream.”  
  
Fiona opened her eyes wide.  
  


* * *

  
A nidoking bellowed a half-taunt into the bushes.  
  
His master responded with an admonition. “I don't have all day, Zeke. Quit playing with your food!”  
  
Zeke listened for motion amongst the foliage, and when a poisoned ampharos leaned too heavily on a twig, causing it to snap, he was three seconds from being pummeled once again. Zap passed out as his body slammed against an old tree's trunk.  
  
The hiker patted his nidoking with his left hand while his ninetales stood at his right. “Good work. I was afraid I was going to have to find a T.M. that teaches how to do my laundry, and I'm pretty certain neither of you two are pining for that job.”  
  
The ninetales looked at his lower-ranking teammate with a condescending grin, confident that in any case, he would not be the one stuck with house-chores.  
  


* * *

 


	3. Somewhat Vain

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 3: Somewhat Vain.  
  


* * *

  
A normal-height Fiona awoke with a small chunk of polyester stuffing in her mouth. The pillow serving as a surrogate hiker became little more than a tattered rag surrounded by a sea of fluff. Vera lifted her left wing from Theodore's shoulder and her right from Vincent's before opening her eyes. “This weavile is fully awake and in control of her claws. You do not need my assistance to speak to her, now.”  
  
Fiona did not want to look anyone in their eyes. “Another nightmare. Does that mean I—” she realized that she did, again.  
  
Vincent walked over from his position beside Vera, crouched next to Fiona, and gave her a sideways hug. “You're doing a good job of making sure I don't forget to wash my sleeping bag.”  
  
Theodore approached with a stern expression. “I think she's gonna do a good job of washing your sleeping bag while we see what kind of breakfast we can find.”  
  
Vera proposed Vincent and Theodore—in particular—walking ahead, advising that there lay a small village nearby, reached by way of a secluded northern route. A trainer would normally feel uncomfortable leaving his team members alone, but he trusted that if Vera gave no warning against it, nothing ruinous was going to happen. “Alright, we'll check it out. Hal, hold the fort for us.” He passed all balls but Tio's to Fiona and told her to give them to the dragon for safe-keeping.  
  
Sitting peacefully upon the grass somewhat away from the troupe, Hal, without opening his eyes, waved a dismissal with his left arm, wing, and antenna.  
  
Vincent recalled Theodore and departed. First, northward through the low foliage till meeting the trainer's route and then eastward. It was not too long before he noticed a break in the trees marked by a small sign post and a picked-over berry bush. It seemed more like a private path to a secluded home than anything leading anywhere he should be. Exploring it nonetheless, onward and upward it winded without indication of its end. Distracted by its natural beauty, Vincent soon found himself ambushed by a fellow trainer. He was an older boy, but clearly a bug catcher. Easy money. The stranger saw that Vincent carried only one ball on his belt, so he offered a one-on-one against his best, and Vincent felt no risk in setting the stakes at 3,165 trainer's credits; all that remained in his account.  
  
Timothy laughed and said, “You just bought my lunch, you know,” as he released his scizor from its ball.  
  
Vincent smiled and retorted with a smirk, “I'm sorry, but you should be more careful on a sunny day.”  
  
Timothy soon realized what that meant. Slice shot his inexperienced trainer a dirty look before covering his face with his claws and bracing for impact when he saw Vincent's typhlosion coalesce before him. Theodore looked through the red bug as though it were not even standing there and charged forward, knocking Slice into the air to be consequentially incinerated by shoulder flames as he ran beneath, stopping just short of colliding into the startled bug catcher. With a haughty “A pleasure doing business with you,” Theodore plucked the trainer's card from his shirt pocket and passed it along to The Boss, who scanned it with his league-provided reporting device and watched his account balance double. The victors then dragged Timothy's limp scizor to the edge of the trail and generously left a bottle of water to help him get moving again once he revived. Turning to continue on his way, Vincent reached for Theodore's ball but his typhlosion interrupted, raising his paws to say, “Walk and talk.” When Theodore said, “walk and talk,” it really meant, “walk and listen.” The Boss obliged.  
  
“Other than the last piece of pizza, we haven't fought over anything important in eight years. We're like ‘this’ and we always will be, and I wouldn't want it any other way. However, this Fiona thing has me upset with you. It's not really her, although you know I don't like her at all.” He scoffed. “I see no redeeming qualities in her, and I tolerate her only because I love you. It's that you haven't made clear to her what your ambitions are and aren't.”  
  
Vincent kicked a rock and asked for clarification.  
  
“You took me in and took care of me when nobody else wanted to; even when everybody, even you, knew you should've dumped me on the desk of the center. When you caught Zap, you told us both how we were going to try for League titles, even though you were really focused on your schooling and nearing an age when most have already gotten as far as they can or care to go by then, unless they've decided to make pokemon their lifestyle. I knew you were going to take your time with it, but Zap didn't understand you like I did. When you bought Hal and put most of that summer into training him, Zap thought the next year was going to be ‘it,’ especially after you came back from your archaeology field trip with a persistent natu in your pocket. Third summer comes, Zap expects to be on the road, and instead you're at an arcade, aiming for an eevee because you needed something that could hurt rock-types.”  
  
Theodore stepped ahead of Vincent to capture his attention. “Boss, you're five summers into it, you're on your fifth badge, and when this summer ends, you're going to college. I don't care about the league, I care about you. Hal and Phil don't care about the league, they care about you. Vera, well, I guess she cares about all of us, and that other guy, too. But, Zap cared about the league. You caught him and explained how it was supposed to go and he believed it. Look at where we stand; I can't blame him for leaving.”  
  
The typhlosion wrapped his arm around The Boss as they began walking forward again. “Your new girl is a fighter. Just beating up on whomever is nearby might be fine for her, but if she gets the League into her head, she might feel the same way Zap did, and I don't think you or her would handle it too well.”  
  


* * *

  
Phil concentrated himself and unleashed a blast of water that knocked Fiona onto her ass. Hal laughed heartily before helping her to her feet again, “Welcome to Vincent and Friends Pressure Washing Company.” The dragon picked up Vincent's bedding and hung it on a thin, red cord extended between two trees. “A little time to dry and it's as good as n—” Hal noticed flaws that were beyond remedy. “—as can be expected.” Fiona tried to shake herself dry, and gave Phil a small kiss of pardon when he approached to apologize for overwhelming her.  
  
Inspecting the soggy sleeping bag, Fiona felt dismayed as the sun's light helped rips and tears from her thrashing claws and stains of her savior's blood stand out amid its dark green camouflage pattern. “This is so embarrassing. I can't imagine what you guys think of me after all of this!” She shouted with a hint of frustrated anger directed toward herself.  
  
Hal sat down on the grass with a thud and seemed to be falling asleep when he responded. “Since you ask, I'll tell you that I think: you're his latest hard-luck case. Tio was his first, I was his second, you're his third. Since Tio could've died, and I would probably still be spending my hours split between a wire cage and a re-enforced glass display box at a game room, and now we aren't in that kinda peril, I imagine you're as lucky and are going to be as appreciative as we are.”  
  
“Appreciative,” she whispered as she took up Vincent's bedding in her left hand and gently rubbed a crimson blotch. She looked over at the pillow, still tattered although most of its batting she had successfully stuffed back inside through the holes. “I have a crummy way of showing it.” Taking up the remainder of an unraveled destiny knot, Fiona picked up her ruined cushion and wrapped it with that red thread, hoping to bind it tightly enough that it would still be serviceable. Walking to Hal and sitting beside his massive left leg, she sighed and hugged the pillow to her chest. “There's no way you could have had a worse start than this. I stole, I slashed his face, I… lost control of myself, in a few ways, and the way things are going, I might again tonight, too. I don't want him to hate me.”  
  
Hal truly did go to sleep this time before awakening to a slight degree and responding a few minutes later. “Vincent's used to bad first impressions. Someday, I'll tell you what happened when he released me from my ball after he brought me home from the game house. But, not today. I'll wait until after you hear Tio's story so mine will just seem funny.”  
  
The sunlight turned harsh, and Phil took refuge in the expansive portion of Lake Myrcene East. Its water was not the most clear, but excepting some loose sediment, it was clean. He swam across the bottom and investigated anything that caught his eye. A patch of familiar red called to him. He scraped away some mud and found a pokeball. He felt a jolt of excitement, anticipating an opportunity to rescue a lost soul. That ended when he turned it over and discovered a void where its button belonged. Phil pushed it down into the mud and covered it up.  
  
Relaxing upon the grass during a summer mid-day made being lazy fun, but a familiar voice ruined Hal's respite. “Yo! Half-Ton, where's the twerp? I want an easy win to start the day.”  
  
Hal muttered to Fiona as she roused and glanced in search of the voice's origin. “You will want to attack this guy, but don't. The consequences would make Master very upset.” He stood and plodded forward to face a feraligatr that was leading the way for its trainer. They exchanged nasty looks. There was no actual animosity between Hal and Lucas, but Carl required that Lucas be as threatening as possible around Vincent and his team's members, and it was politically smoother for Hal to act threatening in return than to either ignore that gesture or try to be friendly in response. Hal replied to Carl's question without breaking eye-contact with his azure-scaled physical counterpart. “Master is on the trail with Theodore, looking for something to make our breakfast. If you care to wait—”  
  
Carl interrupted. “No. Unlike that loser, I have two-time regional, one-time national semifinalist business to attend to. But, when you see him, you can tell him that—”  
  
Vera fell from the sky, landing directly behind Carl, and gave him a strong hug. “Carl, dear, 125.4 days. You don't visit me nearly enough!”  
  
Carl blushed as he felt her feathers slide across his body and her firm breast press against his scapulae. “My offer is still on the table.”  
  
Vera nipped his ear. “You didn't catch me when you had the chance, and that was the only one I could give you. Here's your fortune cookie: third slots from the left, give it thirteen pulls, then play cards until you get bored. I'll take my cut now.”  
  
Carl's expression soured as he handed the green bird a small roll of low-denomination bank notes. She hugged him again before tucking the money into her purse and taking flight, leaving him to stare into the sky as she departed. A moment of frozen silence passed before Lucas forced a cough that snapped Carl out of whatever thought he dwelt upon. “—that he can stall and try to avoid me all he likes. I'm never going to let him reach the Elites, and—what's this?” Vincent's rival finally noticed the new party member. Carl stepped to stand before her, leaned in closely, and stared into her bright red eyes, illuminated by the mid-day sun. “A weavile? I never thought I would see one of these in his group. I thought he only took in never-used weaklings.” He cracked a grin and straightened up, placing his hands on his hips akimbo-fashion after poking Lucas with his elbow. “Then again, this one does look kinda scrawny.” He leaned over her again, in a motion similar to an oriental bow, bringing his face nearly against hers. “I'll bet you're the world's weakest weavile. That would explain it!” With his right index finger, Carl poked her between her collarbones as he straightened away and finished his sentence to help underscore his sentiment. Fiona felt ready to pounce onto his chest and scratch out his eyes for that insult, but Hal placed his left hand on her shoulder as a reminder to maintain calm.  
  
When Carl walked away, he fired one last volley, talking toward his feraligatr but truly to the pokemon near the pond's edge. “Hey, Lucas, don't let me forget to tell Jean he needs to keep his fork handy. Next time we fight the twerp, he's going to have weavile pie! Ha… ha-ha-ha!”  
  
Hal sat down again as he was before, and Fiona followed suit. The dragon snored for a short time while dreaming of the best way to frame his message. “You probably want to prove him wrong after what he said, but don't even try. Jean looks like a Psychic-type, but he will knock you out cold if you let him connect a single blow.”  
  
With that, Fiona wanted to prove both Carl and Hal wrong, but she soon digested his advice and settled down. Her experience at Fenchone Gym showed that she was good at berserk attacking, but bad at not taking hits in return. She thought about her situation for a moment before realizing that speed was her greatest asset, and that it would be a wise investment to become more evasive. That made her wonder if there existed a vitamin that could help her run faster. She picked up her pillow again, poking some of its loose and leaking polyester back inside and tightening its bindings idly. “If that guy is our enemy, why does Vera like him so much? It looks like she likes him more than Vinny.”  
  
Hal snored and groaned loudly. “All that any of us know is that Carl visited the ruins too, when he was in that same archaeology course. Vera acted like she was his captured pokemon during that week, but she never let him trap her. She might like him more than Master, but don't base it on that hug. She gets a better read on people with physical contact, and I think she's just the kind that likes to hug the people she cares about once in a while.”  
  
Fiona leaned back, hummed in acknowledgment, and joined Hal in snoozing, letting her mind recall a myriad attacks inflicted upon her as a captive and imagine methods of evading each one.  
  


* * *

  
A sharp bend in the path allowed small, rustic buildings to come into view: a few homes, a carpenter's workshop, and a small school-house with occupied picnic tables behind it. Mostly obscured by an overgrown bush and tendrils of ivy, an antique sign attempted to identify the town by name, despite each of its letters being either eroded or hidden.  
  
One of the school's students noticed a stranger with a powerful pokemon wandering into town. “Hey, check it out! That guy probably got his starter from a professor, maybe overseas; let's see if he'll show us his 'dex!” Three pupils abandoned their lunches to sate their curiosity. Asking questions of them simultaneously, Vincent and Theodore were unable to reply usefully at first.  
  
“What do you mean, ‘don't have one?’ ” asked a girl with a spearow on her arm.  
  
“Did you lose it?” asked one of the boys. The kids went back to their school-house's lunch tables disappointed that they did not get to learn about pokemon from far-away lands, and jealous of the traveler's great fortune of getting a professor-quality starter for “free” while they three pretended themselves content with their rats, birds, and bugs. In their defense, their rats, birds, and bugs were more than willing to be struck senseless by one swat of that typhlosion's paw if their young masters asked it of them.  
  
The village's general store looked like an old home, unmarked save for one sign reading, “No pokemon allowed inside the store,” in block letters, and, “not even balled,” in sloppy red paint across its bottom. Theodore agreed to stand outside beside a wood-cut Indian that accented the entrance in a slightly cliche manner. The store offered a little of everything, but its selection was tailored to the residents' needs exclusively. Its pokemon-related section was very small and was mostly limited to toys that keep bored house-cats occupied.  
  
The owner called out in a harsh tone, “I'm closing up for lunch in five. You and your fighter best be on your way. I don't expect to see ya' when I come back.”  
  
Vincent took the hint, a few cans of beans, ramen noodles, some boxed juice, and a bundle of assorted berries being sold by the pound. The berries were a steal, and would make returning here worthwhile despite the store's atmosphere. The owner followed Vincent out, locked-up his store behind himself, and shooed both Vincent and Theodore away with his stare.  
  
“Bad news, Tio. It's another beans-and-noodles week, unless you sniff out some high rollers who are weak to our elements,” reported Vincent as he wrapped his arm around his companion's shoulders, and as a given consequence, across Theodore's flame vents. Such a maneuver is one that any typhlosion takes as one of absolute trust, be it the first time from a new friend, or the millionth time from a best friend.  
  
“Let's get back to camp, Boss. Our friends are hungry and I wouldn't be surprised if the locals were getting ready to chase me out of here with a fire hose.”  
  


* * *

  
Zap could build a little charge at his extremities, but even disregarding how weakened he was, he could not build more than a couple amperes without it being sucked into the earth through a grounded chain, one end welded to a metal spike driven straight through the cabin's floor and the other terminated with a metal-toothed shackle clamped around his rear right ankle. The ram's eyes opened slowly, taking in his surroundings. A distinct odor, redolent of cheap coffee and cheaper cigars, pervaded the air.  
  
From a chair came a voice. “You're here to do work. You'll clean, you'll cook, you'll do my dishes, and you'll behave. Anything less, and I'll hurt you. Do your job right, and it won't have to be like that.”  
  
Zap did not need to see a framed, faded photograph featuring a smiling boy, a chubby pidgey, and a nervous, half-hidden vulpix that sat on a small table beside the man seated in his dirty old recliner to identify him. The halves of a busted level ball on the floor blanketed by the shadow of a ninetales said more than Zap wanted to hear. He decided it would be in his best interest to play the part of a fully-wild pokemon and reveal not his ability to speak. He continued examining his surroundings. Near the sink, a couple stacked crates made the basin accessible to a creature of Fiona's previous stature. Against the wall to Zap's left stood the bookcase that she mentioned and ahead of that, a fireplace, a display case with pokeballs lining its shelves, and finally, above a bed that seemed to have burlap for sheets, a meticulously cleaned case that was home to only one ball. There did not seem to be anything special about it. A glance behind himself found a small doorway to what appeared to be either a small room or a large closet. Blood stains, scorched patches, and wear marks cut by frenzied claws marred its floor's surface.  
  
The hiker turned on his radio. He kept it tuned to an oldies station. Zap rested his head and tried to stay calm. This place was foreign to him and of ill-repute, but at least the music was familiar, and he allowed it to carry away his worries for the time-being.  
  


* * *

  
The sun had just begun its slide back down the sky when Vincent and Theodore returned to their campsite. “Okay guys,” the trainer began, “it's more of a lunch than a breakfast, but it will get us on the road again. Looks like we're a head short, though.” According to tradition, Vincent raised his palms to his mouth and called out with a strained accent in the direction of the highest nearby elevations to his green bird. The words he sang were borrowed from lyrics heard on one of Zap's albums, re-purposed to address a different woman of matching name. They formed a question that was answered by her prompt arrival. Their sextet completed, lunch disappeared far more quickly than any of them expected. Near the end of their meal, Vincent gently pinched his weavile's cheek. “Forget about fighting; I'm going to start signing you up for eating contests. They've got Hal's number at hearing his footsteps, but I don't think they would see you coming.”  
  
Fiona managed to take his comment the wrong way, not considering that her master did not know the words that Carl used to insult her that morning. “Because I'm short and weak and skinny, right?” She stood, punched Vincent's shoulder, spouted, “Twerp!” as her strike connected, and, taking up her humble pillow, stomped away to hide inside the tent.  
  
Vera relocated to give Vincent a gentle hug, pressed her cheek against his, and muttered, “Carl was here,” while lending him a vision of what she read from his rival after she took leave of the guests.  
  
Vincent reached behind himself with his left arm and gently raked his hand through the feathers behind her neck. “Should I apologize?”  
  
Vera stood, preparing to depart again. “No. You did nothing wrong, and she knows that. An apology would make you seem weak. She is a weavile. She needs your resilience to discover her own.”  
  
Losing sight of his counselor, Vincent nodded and faced his tent. “Fiona! Your strength and looks are fine. Since you're over there, pull down the tent and pack it. We're about to move.”  
  
Fiona released her tattered pillow, rubbed her eyes to clear her vision, and obeyed his command. She expected punishment for her outburst. Had she taken a swing at the hiker like that, she would have been coughing up blood a minute later. Yet, all Vincent did to her was give her a direct command, as he had after she attacked him the previous morning. The difference in her two masters' disciplinary techniques was significant, but only led her to wonder what it would take to make Vincent resort to the corporal punishment that the hiker preferred. The way things were progressing, she feared that it would not be long before she found out. Pulling stakes free of the earth and folding up well-designed collapsible supports, it took only a minute of fumbling for Fiona to restore the tent to its stored contortion. With clicks of parachute clips fastening Vincent's backpack and rented tent together, her task announced its own completion.  
  
Vincent began a roll call. “Okay, Tio?”  
  
“Ball, Boss. I stepped on something this morning and it hurts.”  
  
“Hal?”  
  
“Ball.”  
  
“Phil?”  
  
Phil raised his left paw and churred low.  
  
“Z—, Zap's walking. Vera is Vera. Fiona, ball or walk?”  
  
She still felt self-conscious after her outburst, and it seemed that saying “walk” would elect her as public representative for her whole team, but it would be the first time that she explored lands away from her taiga-like birthplace, except for a weekend of blind running and hiding in secluded places. “I know that's a fancy ball, but I want to walk with you, Vinny.”  
  
Vincent smiled and took his backpack as she offered it to him. “Come on, then. You're not here to satisfy the ball.”  
  
Many of the trainers that Vincent passed along the route were familiar, and they knew that there was a six-foot column of flames behind the out-of-place, bug-weak pokemon that skipped suspiciously carelessly down the path. A few of them took it as an insult, especially bug-catcher Timothy, currently engaged in a verbal fight with an angry, disappointed scizor holding a crumpled water bottle. Fragments of their argument indicated that Timothy possessed only one badge and that Slice wanted to be traded back to Brandon. He felt that Brandon was tricked into trading him back to Timothy with Brandon's metal coat in-hand, and also felt ashamed that he now fought for someone who would treat a person he called friend in such an abusive manner.  
  
Fiona gazed up toward the sun filtering through thick canopy leaves that sheltered the trail and walked obliviously until she heard her new name being called out.  
  
“You know, Fiona, you're not really that short. According to the printouts from the pokecenter, you're a little taller than standard.”  
  
His weavile kicked at a pine cone before turning to point at her trainer's nose while walking backwards. That was easy for her; she was used to retreating. “I want to be up there, like Vera!”  
  
Vincent picked Fiona up for a few seconds, his hands beneath her arms, tickling her gently as he held her. “Up here, like this?”  
  
She squealed, then giggled, then laughed maniacally until her feet again touched the ground. “Yeah, like that. What did Vera eat to get up there?”  
  
Vincent shrugged. “Beats me. When we met, I thought she had just hatched because she was so small. Then, we ran into Carl and he freaked out about how he met her three years earlier. Maybe that's just how it goes. You were a little small before you evolved, and now you're a little tall.”  
  
A gentle female's voice emerged from the woods. “Would you like to hear my thought on the matter?” Vincent and Fiona turned to see Vera, smoking a small and unique-looking pipe while leaning against a large tree that had kept her obscured from view as they approached. “Vincent, do you remember the time you won a rare candy in the market raffle? It disappeared and you knew that I took it, so you gave me the silent treatment for three weeks? I saved it for a special occasion.”  
  
Fiona chirped with excitement, remembering her rare candy experience. “You ate it while you were evolving so you would get bigger!”  
  
Vera walked up to Fiona and knelt beside her. “Your spirit is dark so I can only do this if you choose to open your mind to me. I would like to share a memory with you.”  
  
What exactly this meant Fiona knew not, but she thought of no reason to distrust the green bird. Rasping sneasel laughter filled the forest as Fiona suddenly saw a moment of chaos that ensued when Vincent and Theodore, already crowding the high-schooler's bed, awoke in the embrace of an unfamiliar and slightly-overgrown xatu. Theodore responded to her intrusion by bellowing in fright, grabbing Vincent with all of his strength, flaring-up defensively—scorching the wall—and rolling out of their bed, clearing a nightstand with the back of his head. The green bird kept company, recalling other amusing incidents she previously precipitated until a familiar fork in the road came into view.  
  
Vincent started down the narrower path. “It's a little out of the way, but that's a good deal on those berries. I should stock up.”  
  
Vera suggested that Fiona return to her ball before reaching the village, and her trainer agreed. “You're probably right. Well, Vera is always right, isn't she? That town has some weird opinions on pokemon.”  
  
The general store of Yureido Cove had since re-opened and Vincent left his balls in the care of his seer, who stood motionlessly next to a wood-cut Indian after playfully offering him a drag on her pipe. Where Theodore stuck out like a sore thumb, Vera looked almost like a natural component of the display. The proprietor carried out Vincent's transaction silently, hastily, but professionally, displeased with his return but willing to take his money.  
  
“Alright, I got the berries. Let's go,” said Vincent as he exited the store, but his green bird walked slowly before stopping to claw an “X” mark into the earth.  
  
“We don't need to rush. In fact, I think we should stand right here on this spot for a few minutes.”  
  
Vincent remained nearby, giving Vera his faithful patience as more than a few minutes elapsed. Passers-by seemed to either scowl at the league-minded trainer or be surprised to find a xatu meditating in the middle of the road.  
  
One traveler passing through showed particular interest and approached the pair. “Hey, kid, that's a mighty fine bird you've got there! Damn tall for that breed, too.”  
  
Vincent almost did not notice the man's approach, having grown bored with standing still and allowing his mind to wander. “Yeah, she's something special. You probably wouldn't believe she was only about five-and-a-half inches when I brought her home.”  
  
The man rubbed his stubble-shrouded chin, reflecting on the trainer's use of that phrase, “brought her home,” for a moment. “I'd believe you. The littlest birds have the biggest hearts. Don't let no one tell you different.” He nodded slightly. “Take good care of—,” his now downcast eyes let him count the colors of plumage near the tips of Vera's wings and he exhaled deeply, taking off his hat and looking at a feather he kept tucked in one of its folds, “—your girl. Sometimes… you only get to let 'em down once.” The man continued on his way, replacing his hat and looking more downward than forward as he walked. Vincent's xatu remained motionless till the hiker left the village along the path that she and Vincent came by.  
  
“Continue onward, my friend. You may release Fiona once you pass the third trainer after you leave this village. She will be playing with her butterfree. I will attend supper.” Vera snuffed her pipe, tucked it into a tiny holster hung beneath her shoulder, spread her wings, and flew straight upward, leaving Vincent behind to follow her advice on his own.  
  


* * *

 


	4. Good Perseverance

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 4: Good Perseverance.  
  


* * *

  
Sparks crawled across the sink water's surface. At the instant they subsided, a poised ninetales leapt from the floor and snapped at an ampharos's face in an attempt to remind the new servant that there would be consequences if he tried to make use of his abilities. Zap snorted harshly to assert a little self-respect. He was testing his power hoping to make dish soap more effective in hard water, and considered his warden's suspicions of treachery to be insulting. The ram slapped suds at an angle to splash some in the fox's direction as he returned to his preferred resting place, but nothing happened. The ninetales spun about and huffed a burst of flame, boiling away the water in mid-air, and settled into his post wearing a smug grin across his muzzle.  
  
Zap finished his work just in time for his new master to return home and order his dishes be dirtied again. All in all, living there seemed tolerable, although Zap knew that it was only because he had been completely obedient since awakening from a poisoned stupor two days prior. No nightly beatings, no morning coffee baths, and he even received decent meals despite their being formed from inferior or left-over portions. Between inclement weather and the beans running out, his old master's journey knew moments of suffering greater hardships.  
  
With help from the warden to ignite the stove's burners, Zap began preparing his new master's dinner request while remembering life on the road with Vincent. It would not have been so bad if there were any reason to believe that their efforts were actually leading somewhere, but after each route traversed and each gym visited, their end goal seemed somehow further away. Curiosity where his new path would lead led the ram to look over his left shoulder. A man sat in a dirty recliner with a cheap cigar, fondling an obviously very old pokeball. Zap had seen older ones in gym battles being wielded by veteran trainers and kids who inherited their starters, but that did not take anything away from this ball's age. The man took another ball from his trophy case and held it alongside the old ball. He rubbed its release button with his thumb and whispered something inaudible over the sounds of cooking, although his ninetales heard it and rose with a start.  
  
The hiker stood and addressed his chef. “Is my food about done yet?”  
  
Zap pretended to be confused at first, looked at the pot, then nodded briskly.  
  
“Good. I'll be back in ten minutes. I need you with me, Shade.”  
  
The ninetales followed his master as he left their cabin. While a small part of Zap wanted to be free, a large part knew that he could never be a champion with Vincent, with the hiker, or in the wild, but at least here he could take pride in his productivity. This man may have been cruel to Fiona but he apparently held some respect for his team. Zap wondered how long it would take to prove that he could be trusted off of his chain while he monitored dinner's simmering.  
  
When the hiker returned, his table was set and his food was turning cold. If Shade were half-again in height, his master's arm would have been over the ninetales' shoulder for support as he dragged himself inside. Dinner passed in silence. Afterward, Zap completed his chores and accepted an extra berry for dessert as a reward before heeding advice to go to sleep.  
  
The man returned to his chair, turned on his antique radio, and fondled the old ball for another lengthy period before finally returning it to its place of honor: a sports-memorabilia display case sized for a baseball, adorned with a black ribbon and strip of masking tape that, decades ago when its adhesive had not yet hardened, once was attached to the ball and identified it as the seldom-used home of “Feathers.” Today, that deactivated ball's identity was indicated by a legacy of pidgey blood that soaked into surface scratches and dried to become thin red lines that defied the wear of handling.  
  


* * *

  
Theodore saw stars despite Ocimene's night-time sky being heavily overcast and back-lit brightly by a waxing moon, giving it a foggy and featureless glow. He also picked gravel out of his coat. A novice trainer's expression and the size of the wager he forfeited indicated that his two-ball Bug/Rock u-turn strategy for snagging journeying Fire-type-focused trainers just suffered its first loss. Not a single Water-type posed a challenge during the last two days, and Vincent wondered if this trainer ever saw one. He did not even seem to know what Phil was when that vaporeon spelt Tio, and responded by ordering his golem to charge blindly into a one-hit knockout. After seven field battles since leaving the hostile village, Vincent's crew became very exhausted and slightly wealthy. Theodore and Phil both walked beside Vincent to warn any other trainers that the local strategy would be ineffective, if only to not need to stop and battle again.  
  
Stepping on a sharp rock aggravated Theodore's foot because of the pain that it alone caused and because his patience ran dry after a long day dealing with that bothersome element. “I really want to make camp, Boss,” he grumbled.  
  
Vincent wrapped his arm around his buddy to support him while Phil took a moment to run ahead and assault a passing firefly. “I do, too, but if we keep moving we can make it to the outskirts of the next town, get a real room, pig out on Chinese, sleep-in until an hour before check-out, then head into town and hit the shops. We went from rags to riches today and we're off the gym schedules thanks to that suspension Fiona arranged for us, so let's just have some fun. It is summer, you know, and once I'm in college, the better halves of the next three summers are going to be mauled by extra courses.”  
  
Theodore half-nodded. “If by riches you mean we won back most of the money you spent on those useless vitamins. You're the boss, Boss, but whatever I stepped on this morning is still in my foot. I'm not going to let you eat until you fix me up.”  
  
Soon, Phil sang and directed his friends' attentions. The hobbling typhlosion glanced upward to see a bargain motel with a green bird standing next to a second-story door. She was mostly hidden behind four stuffed bags, each with a red pagoda printed on its face. “Looks like we'll be getting room number eight,” Theodore proclaimed before re-asserting, “My foot hurts,” and returning himself to his ball to prevent enduring the labor of walking another half-block.  
  
The motel office seemed unmanned when Vincent and Phil entered. Vincent rang the service bell and Phil hummed a matching tone. The manager entered from a room behind his counter, leaving behind the dull din of a television program. He confirmed vacancy and passed Vincent a key with a red tag. “Room 2, check-out is 11:45.”  
  
“Room 2?” A confused Vincent turned to leave but was halted at the door by the manager's voice when the balding fellow noticed Phil, who had been out-of-sight beneath the counter-top, but revealed himself when he followed behind Vincent.  
  
“Hold it. You didn't say anything about pokemon. You'll have to lock them in their balls and leave them here in the office, or put down a damage deposit on a trainer's room. Safety concerns and insurance regulations; you understand.”  
  
Vincent examined the motel's deposit schedule. Fire-, Water-, and Dragon-type each carried a sizable premium. He almost checked off Electric out of habit.  
  
The manager reclaimed the red key and instead gave Vincent one with a gray tag. “Room 8: upper floor, in the middle.”  
  
Despite Vincent's expectations, drawn from the outward appearance of this lodge, Room 8 put forth an inviting air, albeit somewhat spartan, with furniture chosen to be expendable over comfortable and its carpet indoor-outdoor, cut into square tiles for easy replacement. Vincent helped Vera transfer dinner from her wings to the table and released Theodore, who wanted nothing more than to crash on the bed and sleep.  
  
Vera, however, took command of the situation. “Theodore, Vincent, get inside the washroom. You smell like you've been playing with the neighborhood children all day.” Vincent set his ball-belt on the table and shuffled toward the bathroom with Theodore limping behind him while Phil sniffed at their meal and Vera clumsily opened the other balls. A moment later, she chirped a haughty laugh and called to the absent pair. “Tooh-hooh! Wash quickly; you're in a race against Hal and Fiona.” Two cartons of noodles were already nearly half-emptied as the dragon and the cat seemed to materialize with their mouths full.  
  
Vincent stripped while Theodore cursed at a long wait for the “H” valve to show effectiveness. Phil buried his muzzle into a carton to help distract himself from the sound of falling water, while the xatu poked inside Vincent's bag. The trainer was about to make a snide comment about their tiny bar of motel soap when Vera swung the door open and placed a fresh bar covered by a deep red wrapper on the counter. Her beak no longer carrying soap, she admitted to being of no further service. “You must make do with the shampoo provided, boys.”  
  
Vincent's team finished the first sack of Chinese food in silence before being interrupted by a bellowing howl and the sizzle of water boiling away inches from the shower head. Vincent examined closely a bloody metal scraping and the putrid green slime that defensively coated much of it. “Wow, this is more than just, ‘I stepped on something, Boss,’ Tio.” Theodore withdrew his foot and washed his wound thoroughly while his trainer prepared to bandage it.  
  
Vera uncovered her ears, knelt beside a tiny bed-stand, and awkwardly positioned her wing over the room's telephone, struggling to find an angle at which she could grip its handset for a few seconds. She managed as best she could and lifted it up at the exact instant it started a ring. “Yes, sorry about the outburst but it was unavoidable. Thorn in the paw, one-time incident, your other guests won't be disturbed further. Goodnight, Sir.” The handset fell upon its switch hook as it slipped from the small fold between Vera's clawed alula and wing body. Motel manager Norbert managed to say, “Okay,” before hanging up his end in confusion.  
  
A couple of minutes later, Vincent exited the bathroom in a towel and began to dine, while small wisps of steam slowly billowed across the ceiling as Theodore dried himself off through forced evaporation. Unable to bear the suspense, he asked after swallowing his first bite, “So, what's the score?”  
  
Vera dropped a rice ball into her beak and swiftly gulped it down. “Fiona has a slight lead, but the bottom of this carton is going to turn into a brick wall. Hal's going to have half of the fourth bag to himself once Tio's done.” Her share in her belly, Vera took her usual after-dinner station, draping her wings over her human and calming her mind.  
  
Theodore exited the bath and started his meal, soon instigating some conversation. “We need to figure out the sleeping arrangements, Boss. Hers, in particular.” Fiona, paying no attention to anything other than food, ate oblivious to Theodore's insinuation at first, but became aware as his conversation developed.  
  
Vincent stabbed at a particularly evasive noodle. “Well, I could put her in her ball, but that seems a little mean since everyone else is getting to enjoy the room, and it's not her fault that what happened to her gives her nightmares. I guess we could put her in the shower with Phil.” Phil withdrew his muzzle from his carton and shot Vincent a dirty look. He did not want to be assaulted if she started thrashing around again in the night.  
  
Theodore impatiently dumped his share's remainder into his mouth and swallowed it all at once. He rose to his feet and performed a gesture with both hands as he spoke again, “Just wedge her narrow ass into the sink. She's skinny enough to fit. I'm going to sleep now, so keep it down.” The frustrated beast flopped onto the bed massively.  
  
Fiona stared at the brick wall for a moment before setting her carton down, abandoning it to the ravages of a dragon. She poked inside her master's bag, found her present, and took one of the calcium pills with a large gulp of water. Her stomach ached and she did not know why. Was it because she stuffed herself to the gills, or was it because of what Theodore said about her? She settled on a combination of both. Vincent tried to get her attention, but she did not respond to her name. He intended to call more forcefully, but Vera nipped his ear gently and snugged against him tightly. Room 8 became silent except for the noises of Hal slurping away at whatever remained amongst the devastated cartons.  
  
After a while, The Boss rose to run the shower for Phil. His vaporeon always enjoyed sleeping in physical contact with water. At home, the bathtub was all Phil's at the end of the night, but on the road he would take what he could get, even if that meant covering a motel shower's floor drain with his body so a few inches could pool within its basin. While shower water ran at full-blast, Fiona entered with a tattered pillow in one hand and Vincent's rolled-up sleeping bag in her other, tossing them both onto the counter so she could sleep leaning against something soft. She mantled the counter, squeezed in beneath the faucet head—a tight fit but Theodore was right—and covered herself with a medium-sized towel as a sheet.  
  
Vincent did not notice her until he turned the water down to a steady drip, gave Phil a nuzzle, and turned to leave. “You don't have to sleep there. I'm sure we—”  
  
His weavile cut him off. “Is Tio mean?”  
  
Vincent dropped the toilet's lid and sat upon it. “I've known him forever, and he's never been mean to anyone. Curt, yeah. But, well, I don't think he has a problem with you, but with the trouble you've gotten into; gotten me into. Plus, you didn't make the best first impression, trying to steal from us and getting lit up for it. Maybe he's also upset about Zap leaving. Tio and I have always been each other's world, but Zap was Tio's first pokemon friend and he gained a lot of confidence knowing that Water-types would not get a bye off of us anymore.”  
  
Fiona's expression remained quite downcast. “Well, if he's not mean, then I think I should sleep here like he said. You've been nice to me and I need to stop making trouble for you. I don't want to need to be punished again.”  
  
The trainer rose like a flash and grabbed Fiona by her shoulders. She whimpered slightly in fear before realizing his serious expression was one of concern. “Fiona; never, ever will I ever punish you like that monster did.” Vincent exhaled sharply. “Punished again. That sort of thing should never happen to anyone; not once.” He put his left palm on her cheek and kissed her forehead. “We're going to make it work out together, little thief. Just keep your chin up for me.”  
  
She cracked a sly smile for the only time that evening. “Will you help me with something before you go to sleep? Hal promised to tell me what happened when you got him, but only after I got you to tell me about you and Tio.”  
  
Sitting upon the throne again, Vincent admitted, “I know which story he was talking about. There's not much to it, but Hal has always been embarrassed about his, since Tio couldn't help himself, and Hal… well, I'll tell you both stories since if you told him you heard Tio's story, Hal would just say that his paled in comparison and shoo you away.”  
  


* * *

  
“In short, my cyndaquil got sick. He had a strange disease and it almost killed him. We tried drugs and a few shots and he kept getting worse. When he was abandoned by his original trainer, his ball was thrown away too, and lost. Because his ball was still registered and it wasn't broken, Tio was still owned by his original trainer even though I'd had him for a few weeks. I couldn't capture him for myself and use the ball to keep him stable until we found something to help him or try using the healing equipment at the pokecenter. So, I had to take care of him the old-fashioned way. He suffered for days, then a week. His nose wouldn't stop running, he couldn't keep any solid food down, and he was always flirting with dehydration from diarrhea. Even his flame vents were seeping something nasty and green. They're still stained after all these years and two evolutions.  
  
“I spent my winter break trying to keep his fever steady, his body clean, and his belly at just the right amount of soup that would keep him nourished without making him vomit. My parents were worried that I could get whatever he had and wanted to dump him off at the center and let them deal with it, but I refused to let him out of my sight. I knew I would never get him back. They made me a deal: everything I asked for came out of my savings; the soup, the towels, the drugs. If I showed the slightest sign of his disease, he was gone, no argument. If he died, I would never have a pokemon again.  
  
“I used a timer so I wouldn't sleep for more than an hour at a stretch so if he started getting worse I would be there for him. He got worse, and better, and even worse.” The storyteller began to tear up. “It was about four in the morning. He was hardly breathing and I was nervous as hell. I told him I didn't think I could help him anymore and I asked him if he wanted me to take him to the pokecenter for emergency treatment. He—he opened one of his matted eyes, slowly shook his head sideways, and reached toward me. I leaned close and he struggled to lift his head. He licked my cheek; his tongue was bone-dry. He chirped faintly and laid down again. I thought he died at that moment and I started to cry, but when I picked him up he was still trembling gently. I went back to the routine of cleaning him up, getting an eye-dropper of chicken broth in him, wrapping him in a towel, and setting my timer to one hour.  
  
“Two days later, for the first time since he got sick, he got through a day without throwing up or needing a fresh towel. The day before I had to go back to school, I took him to the center and they said that he would probably be okay. They asked me about how I came to have him and I fibbed a little so it would sound like Tio got sick while under his old trainer's care and that his trainer dumped him instead of taking care of him. That was enough to get them to check up on trainers visiting centers with cyndaquils registered and that weekend we got a call that a girl admitted to dumping one in my home town and didn't want it back. She denied that it was sick of course, and they just fined her for improper release, but I didn't care about anything except that I could now make Tio my own.  
  
“When it came time for my allowance, I knew it wouldn't be enough to buy a pokeball because I didn't do any of my chores while I was taking care of Tio and I had spent all of my money except for a few coins, but my father came to me that day and said that I had saved a life, and that was more important than any other duty. He handed me a box covered with postage stamps, and inside was a hand-crafted friend ball.”  
  
Fiona could not find any words that felt appropriate.  
  
Vincent stood to leave. “Tio isn't mean, but I think he sees you as more trouble than you are worth right now. I'll leave it to you to prove him wrong, but for now, let's take it one day at a time. It's clear that a part of you is still in that cabin. I'm tired. Goodnight, little thief. You can hear Hal's story some other time.” He exited and turned off the light, leaving only an automatic night-light's faint illumination behind.  
  
Fiona stared into the darkness. Three meters away, a shower head dripped once every eleven seconds.  
  
Vincent crawled halfway into bed, to be quickly dragged the rest of the way by Theodore, whose nose detected familiar flesh. The sleeping beast gripped The Boss tightly, chirped in an uncharacteristically high voice, and licked the young man's cheek. His tongue was warm and moist. When both fell fully asleep, Vera brushed her wing over her boys' faces before returning to her oddly standing rest.  
  


* * *

  
An antique radio's music stopped abruptly. “Well, shit. Shade?”  
  
Shade rose and drew downward a rope connected to a pulley, opening a storage chest's lid. The fox rummaged through it looking for a package of fresh batteries. Zap thought this could become an opportunity. He picked up the radio, shook out its exhausted dry cells, bent down to pick one up that rolled near the chair, and held it up while midget lightning bolts began dancing around his extremities other than the leg that remained grounded by a metal shackle. A boot to the back of his head broke Zap's concentration.  
  
“None of that in my house. Next time I hit you, the clock will jump ahead three hours.”  
  
So much for Zap's plan to prove his usefulness to a new master by quick-charging some batteries. He shook off the blow and carried the radio to the hiker while Shade returned with a quartet of D-cells. Music resumed and the cabin settled down once again. Zap, still slightly dizzy from the strike, staggered toward an old sofa cushion that now served as his bed. The ninetales followed him. Shade stood over Zap for a minute before slowly biting down on the servant's neck. Defensive instinct begged for a static discharge, but Zap resisted that urge. The fox grew bored and huffed a mouthful of flame before releasing the ram and trotting away to his master's dangling arm to ask for affection; a request never denied.  
  


* * *

  
“Vinny-vinny-vinny-vinny-vinny—”  
  
His organic alarm clock could not be ignored.  
  
“Nnngh, Fi', whu—” Vincent's eyes opened to see a field of darkness, broken only by an amber bindi flanked by two wide eyes and an endless grin, all of which seemed to sparkle despite how little light pierced the window's curtain defenses.  
  
“I did it! I made it!” Fiona jumped into a victorious pose, standing tall over Vincent's chest while holding a dry hand towel in the air like a trophy, and continued accolading herself. “I've got everything under control, now! I'm awesome like that! I wonder if I got any taller overnight.”  
  
Theodore rose slightly. “We'll buy you a tape measure. Get off The Boss.” He shoved the alarm clock, which landed on the floor with a thud.  
  
She scrambled to her feet and ran to the other side of the bed. “Wanna pick a fight? Okay, bring it on! I don't care if you think you're hot stuff. I can take you!” Her taunting was ineffective. “Come on, Tio. I wanna fight with you!”  
  
Theodore rolled over very slowly and sat upright on the edge of the bed. “You really want to fight me?”  
  
Fiona jumped up, “Yeah, right now, let's do this!” She danced toward him and playfully took a swing at his chest.  
  
He caught her arm, lifted her up, and spun her to face the direction he faced as he pulled her onto his lap. Then, clutching her with both arms, he rolled over to lie as he lay before. “I win. My prize is ‘sleeping until ten.’ We'll share it.” Theodore reached over and pulled Vincent into the hug.  
  
There were no further interruptions until the electronic alarm clock sounded at 9:57, later that morning.  
  
Once again hunting for breakfast and trusting Hal to both sleep and guard the campsite, Vincent and Theodore traveled the route in search of sustenance. This time, their deliverance came via a fast-food restaurant with a well-designed bargain menu. When they returned to Room 8, Theodore turned on the television, but there was little to watch but local weather, which Vera could predict more accurately, a children's cartoon that seemed to be focused more on selling games and toys than providing entertainment, and a cooking show. Everyone selected one of the delicacies presented on Calvin Grovewell's Gourmet and pretended that their mass-produced breakfast patties were actually meals worthy of narration as you ate them.  
  
After breakfast, Vincent visited the motel office. “Do you think you could cut me a deal on about a two-week stay?”  
  
With summer's journeying season winding down, Norbert offered a bargain and they settled on a schedule that was not much harder to swallow than pokecenter tent rentals. With plenty of time before League-sanctioned competition would again be an option, Vincent spent most of those days visiting the routes about Linalool City, sending Fiona to compete against the beginner trainers and letting his experienced fighters collect small purses by defeating the more-confident trainers. Watching them fight, Fiona learned what Zap meant by “The Tio, Hal, and Phil Show.” While Theodore and Hal were both somewhat susceptible to the Rock-types popular in this area, Phil had no problem washing them away, and whatever else the trainer had on-hand was usually unable to stop a rampaging dragon.  
  
Vincent did not put Theodore into a battle unless the opposition looked Fire-weak, however; sending in Vera whenever she availed herself to fight in his stead. Vincent knew that his typhlosion would not always follow orders, and since they needed big wins to afford their accommodations, if a battle started going badly, Tio could not be trusted to fight fairly in sight of a large-enough wager.  
  
As the fortnight neared its close, it was time to restock on needful things. Vincent, Theodore, Vera, and Fiona rode together in an elevator at Linalool's department store to a floor that offered health and beauty supplies. Fiona wandered around the shelves while Vincent searched high and low for his preferred brand of soap, which was often a challenge to locate. It became a running gag, with Vincent asking Vera if he would be successful, to which she would always reply, “I can't know until you decide if you will look thoroughly enough to find it.”  
  
An attendant with the appearance of that rare breed of woman that turn out to be fifteen years older than you would reasonably guess judging by her appearance and behavior operated a demonstration booth, promoting a new line of make-up. Fiona watched customers sampling lipsticks and mascaras. During a moment when the booth stood idle, the attendant beckoned her. “Now aren't you a precious little thing. Come over here so I can get a good look at you.”  
  
Fiona approached slowly, the word “little” rattling inside her skull.  
  
“Aw, you're such a beautiful pokemon already, I don't think make-up would be able to bring your appearance any higher.”  
  
Vera came up behind Fiona and withdrew a singed feather from her purse. “I was thinking something like this might be an interesting look.” The xatu held the little thief's shed ear feather against Fiona's crown.  
  
The attendant smiled. “That could be interesting. You might consider bleaching the tips instead of darkening them, too. We have products for that, but a little peroxide would be fine to try it with.”  
  
Fiona took from Vera the feather and gave it a gentle sniff. Doing so triggered a strong memory. She paraphrased an advertising slogan printed on a nearby sign while observing herself in a mirror. “I think it might be the new ‘me.’ I'll try it.”  
  
The girls bade each other adieu and sought Vincent and Theodore, who had given up on the cosmetics section and migrated toward automotive.  
  
When they emerged from the department store, Vera stumbled slightly as though something surprised her. Her friends watched as her pupils shrank to points before she closed her eyes for a few seconds during which her mood became clearly sullen. When her eyes opened, they revealed themselves dilated. Vincent asked what was wrong, to which Vera responded by stepping towards him with her left wing raised, sliding it over his right shoulder as she gave him half of a hug, nipped his ear gently, and whispered, “Sometimes it's more saddening when you see it coming.” She took a few steps away before launching herself straight upward into the sky.  
  
Now a trio, they continued on their way and followed a path that took them alongside Linalool Park. Fiona tugged on Theodore's arm and showed him a feather that fell from her ear the night she evolved. “Do you think you could do this to all of my feathers?”  
  
Theodore grunted. “What? Burn them?”  
  
“Yeah, just the tips, like you did to this feather.”  
  
Vincent shrugged in acquiescence when Theodore looked to him for advice. Descending to all-fours, Tio told him, “Alright, Boss. Hold her back to mine,” and once Vincent confirmed that she was placed so the edge of her crown aligned with the typhlosion's flame vents, he continued, “Don't flinch. Three, two, one, awesome.” A short rank of flames formed and extinguished so quickly that despite their height they were almost too swift to see. Where they so briefly stood, the tip of Fiona's every crown feather became scorched to match the sample that she provided.  
  
She rolled off of Theodore, dashed toward the park's pond, and ice-punched its surface to make an impromptu mirror. Fiona held it high and admired her faint reflection, its tiara's altered feathers contrasting strongly against the sky beyond the ice. Once again, she saw a new face in the glass and liked what she saw. Her gaze snapped instantly from her reflection to Vincent. “I like it!”  
  
Theodore stroked from his fur some plant matter that clung to him when he knelt. “Great. Now she'll want me to do that for her every time she molts.”  
  
Vincent chuckled and started walking ahead. Theodore proceeded behind him and Fiona jogged to catch up and rejoin them. After traveling a short distance, the trainer handed his starter their purchases from the store. “Tio, do me a favor. Carry this stuff back to our room. I'm going to take Fiona to the center and see if I can afford to put an H.M. in her.”  
  
Theodore knew little about which pokemon could use which H.M.'s, but there were only a couple that had any merit in battle that Vincent would be willing to spend money on, and Tio did not like the idea of losing any part of his elemental advantage over the over-staying guest that he considered to be quite beyond her welcome.  
  


* * *

 


	5. Hates To Lose

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 5: Hates To Lose.  
  


* * *

  
“Wait, wait! Are you sure this isn't going to scramble my brains?”  
  
Fiona noticed the graffiti that was written all over a plain-looking machine embedded inside an alcove wall's face at Linalool's pokecenter. The comment that she was referring to read, “Press 8 to scramble brains,” but she had not overlooked, “Catch wild rattata, set power to HI, press 1, serves six.” Button number two featured the words, “It worked too well!” and a grotesque cartoon of a mew clawing holes into its flesh to help make openings for the plurality of wings that were bursting out of random places on his body. An improvised legend for button number five read, “Doesn't do anything, I want a refund,” and in a different pen, “It reminds your pokemon to flush the john 2/3 the time.”  
  
Vincent adjusted the machine's sensor band around Fiona's head, slipped his hands into the straps of a pair of refitted headphones speakers, and prepared to place them over her ears after pressing “3” and “play” on the jukebox's transport, which started a thirty-second countdown. “Yes, I'm sure. Trust me, it'll be useful, and when we get into League competitions, you're only allowed to use four moves and they have to be documented techniques. I can't put down ‘Fiona Improvisation Numbers 1 through 4’ on your registration sheets and it will be a while before we can barter for moves that you really need. The best deals come at season's end when other trainers are unloading leftover T.M. discs.” In honesty, Vincent had no clue what a good move-set for a weavile would look like, but he did know that Water could counter a couple elements that would harm her.  
  
Fiona crossed her arms. “I like using Fiona Improvisation Numb—AHHHH!”  
  
After three seconds of bone-rattling squeals passed through the headphones, Fiona had been injected with the ability to cross water gracefully and to force atmospheric humidity to suddenly condense into a crashing wave. Vincent's account was charged for his use of the H.M. programming device and for a couple headache tablets to give to his surf-enabled weavile.  
  
“Take these. I don't think special maneuvers are supposed to be your strong suit, but this will cover two and a half of your weaknesses for now. Fire and Rock will be hurt as long as you make the first move, plus you'll at least be able to fight back against Steel.”  
  
Fiona inhaled her painkillers. “Fire, huh?” She leaned toward the vacant friend ball on her trainer's belt. “Hey, Tio! Guess wh—”  
  
Vincent put his hand on her shoulder and she snapped to attention. “Phil may be Tio's best back-up, but you'll be his support if Phil gets taken out. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”  
  
She wrung her claws together as she exited the jukebox alcove with Vincent behind her and spoke low, the playful sarcasm gone from her voice. “You taught me this surf thing so I can support Tio, not beat him up with it.”  
  
Vincent ruffled her crown. “So you can compete from a disadvantageous position and so you can contribute more to this team.” He looked around the pokecenter, hoping to find a computer terminal that was not in use so he could at least get a list of T.M.'s that a weavile can learn in case he met someone willing to barter. What he found was a technician trying to fix three computers at once and a queue forming before the cluster of terminals that were still operational. Furthermore, comments such as, “Great, this one's dead, too, now!” were easily overheard spoken by those who were seated. He chose to complete his task the old fashioned way and pulled a dusty book labeled “W–Z” from a shelf in the children's corner that housed volumes for letters “A” through “V” and other titles such as “My First Pokemon Friend” and “See Crobat Run.”  
  


* * *

  
Jackie rushed through that pokecenter's doors before checking-up and returning to a normal gait. Assaulted once by an automatic door as a toddler, she never trusted such wily mechanisms again. Glancing around to acquaint herself, she noticed a slim but attractive pokemon that stood with the uneasy waver of technical machine hangover. She practically ran up to it, fearlessly ignoring its claws and countenance. “Oh-mi-god, you're so cute!”  
  
Fiona became the center of a stranger's attention. Were she expecting a spontaneous adjective, Fiona would have hoped for “cool” or “intimidating,” but “cute” was better than “little” and “precious,” so at least this improved upon the morning's evaluation. Nonetheless, this girl's tone felt slightly patronizing.  
  
“I haven't seen a weavile outside of the circle before. You're just wandering around? Where's your trainer at, cutie?”  
  
Ah, there it is.  
  
Fiona pointed toward the lobby's benches. “That's him ov—”  
  
Jacqueline called out at the top of her lungs while practically dragging Fiona by her arm as she ran to him. “Vincent! I knew I'd catch up to you sooner or later!”  
  
Claiming a bench, Vincent and Jackie talked non-stop for over twenty minutes, until the latter's cellular telephone rang. “Bah; that's Caz. He's probably wanting to whine because I'm taking a half-hour to get Jean healed up.” She flicked it open—“yep”—and shut. “Caz agreed to a battle against a kid wearing a yellow geodude shirt who wagered a couple of quid that he could beat last year's semi-finalist. Everyone around was using fresh-caught Bug and Rock, and Caz is a cocky bastard, so he offered to pay out one-hundred times and play the kid one-on-six. Jean knocked the kid's kakuna down in a heartbeat, and then it went downhill. That kid must live in a haunted house or something because the kakuna was just a pet or a decoy. Ghost team wins, and Caz hasn't stopped grousing since.” Jackie slid off of the bench and gave Vincent a hug where he sat. “I'll get going so he doesn't start re-dialing twice a minute. Don't forget: I owe you lunch. Call me for anything!”  
  
Vincent knew how she handled phone calls. “Actually, I would like a little help. I wanted to research moves for Fiona, but there's something wrong with the network service here and the kiosks are all screwed up. I know you have one of those fancy pokedex pads; could I borrow it for a little while?”  
  
Jacqueline thought aloud. “Hmmmmm, no! You have to keep it.” She handed him a palm-sized computer.  
  
He blushed slightly. “Huh, Jackie, I know your family is loaded but—”  
  
She faked a scowl that would last for one sentence before turning into a smug grin and cut him short. “Don't be rude! Daddy brought home a test-run unit of the super-small ones they're going to be selling next month after finals, so this old thing needed a new home anyway.” She turned with a giggle and walked away briskly to deny him any opportunity to thank her. Entering Linalool Pokecenter's deeper corridors, she swiped her I.D. at a security door to use a private rejuvenation machine; one reserved for elite trainers, gym leaders, and girls whose daddies worked at pokemon-related technology firms.  
  
No longer waiting for their guest to leave, Fiona's boredom inspired her to elbow Vincent, but he barely reacted, too distracted by all the features that her-now-his pokedex offered.  
  
“This thing knows everything,” he muttered.  
  
Fiona shifted her attention to a row of computers along a distant wall. The brewing commotion began boiling over as the last working bank of terminals started showing symptoms of impending break-down.  
  


* * *

  
Carl focused on nothing beyond his bowl of cereal, still upset that he threw away a loss to a kid not even old enough to register for League without sponsorship, until he heard something tapping rhythmically against his fifth-floor suite's balcony's sliding glass door. He invited his guest to enter. She immediately flopped down on his bed and spread herself fully across it, mimicking the Vitruvian Man. A moment later, she groaned and sighed as though she were releasing a thousand-pound weight from her shoulders.  
  
Her host returned to his cereal. “Do you want me to buy some more slot machine tips so you can go to a dollar store and feed your destitute ‘trainer’ and his clumsy pets?”  
  
Vera replied with a warning while wiggling her toes. “Stay off of the slots. The only winners today will be people sitting beside you. Play card games if you wish to earn tokens.”  
  
Carl's bowl ran out of flakes. “Well, what do you want, then, beside your cut?”  
  
The green bird chirped, slightly insulted. “I wanted to enjoy a social visit with a friend. Also, this bed is nice and soft and comfortable. The ones in budget motel rooms are lumpy on their own, and lumpier when there are two frat boys in it.”  
  
Carl entered the suite's kitchenette where a brief blast of water rinsed clean his bowl. He then put two slices of bread into a toaster. “That bed would be all yours if you wanted it to be. The offer is still on the table.” Silence stood like a wall until it was broken by the sound of toast being mechanically ejected. Carl withdrew the toast, applied a thin layer of butter, and sat on his bed's edge. Vera quickly wrapped him in a hug and took a bite of a toast slice as he lifted it near her beak. “Why did you go with him and not with me?” he asked.  
  
Vera withheld her reply until he yielded the rest of her slice. “Because he said, ‘Please.’ ”  
  
Carl soon re-sat in his cereal chair at the table, leaving Vera sitting upright on his bed. She slid back carefully to lean against its headboard. “Don't pout. I formed with him the same friendship I formed with you. In your youth, you were more like he was and is. On the last day of your field trips, both of you said that you would miss me and wanted me to come home with you. But, while you said, ‘I want to take you home with me,’ he said, ‘Please, come home and stay with me.’ When I stood fast, you threw your ball at me and I teleported away. When I fluttered forward, he held his ball out to me and let me peck its activation button.”  
  
Her host, face reddened at this point, rested his chin between his left hand's thumb and forefinger, elbow propped on the table.  
  
Vera let him stew for a moment before she continued. “I've told you many times that you didn't catch me when you had your chance. It wasn't because you threw your ball with poor aim. It was because when you looked into my eyes, you didn't see a friend first and a pokemon second. Vincent did; that's why Vincent asked me to follow him, when in the same situation, you ordered me to.” Vera re-positioned herself and spread out across his bed again, idly listening to the machinations of Carl's mind as he digested the revelation, and continued once he finished wrestling with his emotions.  
  
“A long time ago, when they first designed a T.M. that could teach almost any pokemon with a mouth to communicate with humans, trainers who could afford it were lining up to enter raffles to have a chance at getting one. After applying it, many of those trainers discovered that they didn't like what their pokemon had to say. It wasn't a month later before smug trainers were releasing their ‘talkers’ back into the wild or trading them to breeders for replacements of the same species, trying to roll back the clock and get mutes that would just do what they were told in silent acquiescence like it had always been. I overheard recently that almost a quarter of Ocimene's pokemon population has the ability, now, since so many went back to breeders and it often passes into offspring like it were a natural skill.” Vera rose and picked up a three-leaf hinged photograph frame that stood on the table beside Carl's comfortable bed. Its three images were of Carl with his family, including his two starting pokemon; of his first semi-finalist award reception, shaking hands with the still-champion; and of a young man with a tiny green bird perched on two fingers. She spoke to the third photograph. “Maybe if I had revealed to you that I could communicate, that I could express my emotions and thoughts to you, you would have viewed me as a friend first and a pokemon second like I hope you truly do today.” She looked toward Carl with a sorrowful and disappointed gaze. “But, I needed to see how your heart, in the dark, would choose to act.”  
  
Vera garnished the photograph frame with a sigh as she replaced it, and then walked slowly to the table, giving Carl one final hug. “It's okay. I love all my boys despite their imperfections.” She withdrew slowly and proceeded to the sliding glass door. “Say ‘hello’ to your sister for me in three minutes. Oh, and call your father and tell him that your xatu friend advises him to keep his shoes on and to prepare plenty of coffee; he won't have a chance to relax after work, tonight.” The green bird showed herself out via the balcony through which she entered.  
  
Carl watched her fly away and stared into the sky until Jackie entered through a door behind him and announced her delayed return with Jean's ball. He said nothing to his sister, even after she noticed a green feather tucked within a gap between the photograph frame's hinges and brought it to his attention.  
  


* * *

  
With a little trial and error, Vincent successfully associated his gifted device to his League registration, and it automatically set an alarm for later that afternoon. For a summer afternoon, the air felt rather cool, thanks to an overcast sky. Phil served as Fiona's sparring partner, letting her practice using her new surf skill as an attack without hurting him in the slightest. Vincent hunched over, seated upon a park bench, poking and faintly smudging a touch-screen. This device's capabilities reached well beyond those of the generic on-deposit reporting devices that most trainers carried, and then beyond that of the typical trainer's device. Having come from somebody on the inside, so to speak, it could access information that trainers with their somewhat-limited consumer-grade devices would almost kill for. For example, any pokedex reports the normal fully-grown height for a weavile as three-foot-seven, but this unit could search through the physical stats of every registered weavile in Ocimene and report that Fiona's four-foot-one stature put her in the 95th percentile. Fiona, ready for a break, happened to hop onto the bench beside him as he learned of this. After explaining to her what ‘percentile’ meant, she simply asked what they could buy to help her get those last five percentiles that she needed to become the tallest.  
  
Seated on Vincent's other side, Theodore suggested, “Platform shoes.”  
  
Fiona practiced a little while longer, until Vincent called out to her and Phil with a command to follow him away. Chimes of that alarm indicated that their suspension just now elapsed. They crossed Linalool with haste, intending to let Fiona participate in one-on-one sparring matches and discover if her new attack could prove worthwhile. Once they arrived, however, they learned that nobody could compete. Standing before the gym, a live reporter interviewed a mute nidoqueen with a ninjask translator. Apparently, Bill's P.C., as the massive networking and data center was still called, went down suddenly. The nidoqueen was in pieces because her mate was being withdrawn when the system collapsed. His ball came out empty and she feared the worst. Both gym and pokecenter staff members addressed their crowds in an attempt to maintain calm, but nobody knew any details about the situation. All that was certain was that if the nidoqueen's fears were true, every pokemon that was in the system may be gone. The trouble did not limit itself to Linalool. Trainers in the field catching pokemon were seeing their accounts being temporarily flagged as ineligible for League-endorsed battle due to having more than six active pokemon on-hand; their mobile devices could not adjust their active rosters.  
  
“I bet you feel really lucky, don't you, twerp?” Carl arrived for his scheduled match-up but could not withdraw his team, leaving him with only Jean on-hand. “Little mister never-going-to-have-more-than-six-anyway still has his rabble of a team with him, while the pros are having to sweat it out.” Carl smirked with his eyes closed as he raised his palms and shoulders. “Life's not fair.”  
  
Carl's calm demeanor, contrasted against such panic that a majority of nearby trainers shared, surprised the twerp. “Aren't you worried you might have lost, really lost, your pokemon?”  
  
Carl scoffed. “Private storage, scumbag. My pokemon are safe and my team is chilling out at Dad's place. I just needed the service running to pass them through to a ball dock.”  
  
Vincent exited Linalool Gym and released the balled member of his team, and Vera touched down just as Hal reconstituted. “Alright; new plan, guys. I'm thinking: we hit the mall, grab a bite, and pick up a movie to watch at the motel. Sound good?”  
  
Fiona did not really know what a movie was, but the upward change in Vincent's vocal pitch when he ended his sentence intrigued her.  
  


* * *

  
Linalool Mall drew shoppers from adjacent towns as far west as Nybomy Fields and east as Hexyloxy Harbor, which includes bullet-train passengers who ride to Hexyloxy Terminal and then take the bumpy northern route around Lake Nixymyl. Freely-wandering pokemon were also a common sight there, as the mall held its tenants to an obligation—one no other shopping center in the region would enforce on pain of eviction—that any pokemon with money to spend had a right to shop there. However, not even when a bus that loaded up at Coroxon arrived did Linalool Mall see so many pokemon walking the foot paths. Trainers and owners learning of Bill's P.C.'s disruption of service began worrying that even their pocketed pokeballs may begin malfunctioning and let out pokemon normally kept within to be safe. Of those pokemon, however, many, unaccustomed to casual domestic life, became confused, some wondering why they were not being ordered to battle, others becoming highly defensive of their masters for fear that any and all of the pokemon nearby may attack, and others still being pulled apart, assuming they were free to fight at will. Police officers soon took to the streets with Grass-types, using their sleep-inducing techniques to pacify brawlers creating scenes.  
  
As they toured the mall, Vincent's group fell apart one member at a time. Hal's skull pointed like a compass toward the food court. Theodore broke stride at a jewelry shop when he noticed a display case of heavy gold chains, and Phil sneaked a lap around the water fountain, making off with a large-denomination coin beneath his tongue when he emerged. Fiona was last to leave Vincent, the facility's scale easily overwhelming her such that only a sign advertising performance enhancement could call her away.  
  
Vincent neglected her absence, instead taken by a realization as he entered a media shop that it was the first time in years he did so alone, without an eager ampharos walking beside him. The classic comedy section seemed well-stocked, but Vincent rummaged through the N's fruitlessly for some time before finding the film he sought in a bargain bucket of import flicks.  
  
Vera flew to the second level as soon as they passed through Linalool Mall's entrance and there she entertained one of her few vices. Slowly passing by the mall's finest of women's clothing stores, she admired front-window mannequins adorned in luxurious dresses and fine gloves. Despite becoming dexterous enough to handle basic tasks such as operating doors, writing awkwardly, and grasping items with cooperative shapes, and despite that immense usefulness in her freedom of flight, a part of Vera always envied humans and certain species of pokemon for having been gifted with useful hands and flesh unburdened by a layer of high-maintenance feathers, always so picky about which way they are brushed and revolting against any attempt to apply wardrobe. The very thought of having hands with fingers attractively gloved and slipping into an attractive dress brought her to shiver, which in turn stood her feathers on-end as though her imagination created affront. She accepted that sensation as a cue to return to the life that Nature graciously permitted her to live.  
  
Vincent emerged with a media chip and a hastening stride, loath to trust Fiona's decision making when surrounded by battle-minded pokemon and quite possibly security agents armed with tranquilizer darts. A glimpse of lamp-black-tipped magenta feathers bobbing behind a shelf caught his eye, and a sign indicating that they bobbed within a nutrition store confirmed his identification of her. Fiona was awed by so many bottles filled with magical pills and powders, each promising to enhance strength, beauty, endurance, stamina, or potency; whatever that meant.  
  
She jumped away when Vincent touched her shoulder, but her stance became normal quickly enough that he did not notice her momentary expression. “Oh! Hey, Vinny, help me find cargo. I talked to that guy over there and he said I need cargo if I want to be faster.”  
  
Vincent corrected her misunderstanding. “I'm pretty sure the vitamin is called ‘carbo,’ and it's outside of our budget. You'll just have to run around a lot if you want to be more athletic.”  
  
Fiona accepted Vincent's refusal to buy her more vitamins in stride. Running around a lot took more time than swallowing pills, but running had also been her one talent that carried her to safety from her pack and from the cabin, so it was at least a familiar process and one she felt ready to tackle.  
  
Vincent offered her his hand as they exited the shop. Together they collected their friends, finishing by joining Hal in the food court. Along the way, Fiona realized that her meeting Vincent was the only time in her life that choosing to run would have been a fatal mistake.  
  


* * *

  
Shade was no longer kept on guard duty during the day and Zap had even gotten away with turning on the radio while his new master was out. It quickly became a best friend. A music junkie from note one, he memorized every album that Vincent owned and quickly discovered that he possessed a voice to go with that addiction. He was once featured on local television after winning a regional karaoke contest, becoming the first pokemon that was not a jynx to honestly out-perform all the human contestants by a margin wide enough to escape the judges' bias against “unnatural” competitors; be it born of seeing pokemon competing with humans or merely the speech T.M.'s synthetic origin.  
  
Listening quit being enough for him and soon Zap sang himself into a corner. He worked in the back room at the end of his chain, having just finished hanging the hiker's laundry to dry when he realized that the radio quit playing several lines of lyrics ago; that the music he accompanied existed only in his memory. He sheepishly leaned his head into the opened doorway and peered into the living space.  
  
The hiker sat in his filthy chair, smoking a cigar. His ninetales posed nearby, exuding amused arrogance like a king attending the royal opera.  
  
“I'm back again.” That lyric was correct but his pitch was quite flat. “Is my laundry done?”  
  
Zap nodded as he had done all along.  
  
The hiker puffed a smoke ring, unable to see Zap and not caring as his gestures no longer sufficed. “I asked you a question. You will answer me immediately when I ask you questions.”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” Zap croaked, then coughed to clear his throat. “It's drying now.”  
  
Another puff of smoke; “how long did you plan to keep your secret?”  
  
“As long as I felt like it was not my place to talk, Sir.”  
  
Ash settled within a tray. “Good answer. I can respect that. Wild pokemon don't normally know the words to golden oldies or how to get chili stains out of my delicates, so I am right in assuming you have a trainer.”  
  
“You captured me in the wild. You are my—”  
  
“How long ago did he throw you away?”  
  
Zap shifted uncomfortably. “My previous trainer didn't throw me away. I… threw him away. I was not wild again for very long.”  
  
The hiker hummed. “While you were loose, or before then for that matter, did you happen to see a sneasel running around the woods? Skinny little shit, looked like the kind that would be the bottom of the totem pole and beg for scraps after her pack finished a kill. The kind that needed a victim that wouldn't fight back.”  
  
Zap hesitated for a heartbeat; too long.  
  
“You have. I said you will answer me immediately. Why did you freeze on me? Can't be stage fright, the way you were belting it out when I came in.”  
  
“We did meet a sneasel, and she told us her side of the story.”  
  
The hiker chuckled exactly once, very deeply. “Really. Do you believe what that little shit told you?”  
  
Zap looked toward the crates. “I do not know if it is true or not.”  
  
Leaning to his left side, the hiker turned to get Zap into the fringe of his vision. “Never lie to me. You're wearing a chain staked to my floorboards. You know.”  
  
“I do, Sir.”  
  
“Want to know why?” He waved his cigar dismissively. “The little shit, not you.”  
  
Zap looked directly at the hiker. “I think you want to tell me.”  
  
“Good answer. When I found Feathers, she was looking at herself, already halfway ripped open by that little shit, and in her eyes I saw something I will never forget: absolute, complete, perfect horror. Then, she looked up at me and she tried to—,” the hiker choked, “I like to think she tried to say goodbye but all that happened was her throat twitched and a little blood trickled from her beak and she died.” He turned his antique radio on again but at a very low volume. “Besides,” he continued, “I know that look. She was begging me to save her somehow. I always wanted to see it again, in that little shit's eyes: absolute, complete, perfect horror. But, no matter what I did to that monster, she always had a little fight left in her. Physical pain, psychological pain, it didn't matter.” He leaned forward and gestured with a nod toward Zap's cushion. “I could make her wad herself into a ball in that corner just by reaching toward my belt buckle, but whenever I stopped whipping her for a few seconds, she would look up at me and in those damned red eyes, a spark of life. I was never able to break her.”  
  
A favorite tune began and his recollection waited for that song to complete. The hiker puffed on his cigar with a crooked expression. “It was obvious, really. I needed to do to her what she did to Feathers. I needed to eviscerate her before her very own eyes, but—,” the hiker twisted in his chair to look at Zap and point at him with his cigar, “I knew I would only get one chance and I was afraid. What if I turned her inside-out only to see that damned half-toothless grin underlining those red eyes of hers, still burning with the last of her life's spirit?” He rose from his chair and walked to the sports memorabilia display case. “Laughing at me, laughing at us, right to the very fucking end.” The hiker flung his cigar into the fireplace before flopping back into his chair, causing it to creak loudly in protest of his abuse.  
  
After a moment, Zap spoke up. “Sir, I—”  
  
The hiker responded with a voice barely less low than his radio's volume. “I did not ask you a question, did I?”  
  
“You asked if I had seen a sneasel, and I still need to finish answering that question: I have, but she isn't a sneasel anymore.”  
  
Another creaking noise made Shade flatten his ears as the hiker shifted quickly. “You wouldn't know that unless—unless she was caught by a trainer who gives a damn and by someone you know. Do you have a name?”  
  
“Zap, Sir.”  
  
The hiker stifled a laugh. “That's a shit name, but I have no right to change it. Take a berry and go to sleep, Zap.”  
  
The ampharos dragged his chain behind himself to reach the berry jar and a moment later curled into his bedding, an old comforter folded over itself. It was in better condition than the rags that the hiker made his own bed with, which seemed to be as old as the man himself. As much as Zap enjoyed singing, it did not justify betraying his original trainer, even if Vincent failed to fulfill his promises. However, Zap had nothing to gain and everything to lose should he fail to comply with his new master's wishes.  
  


* * *

  
A televised special report attracted a crowd before an appliance store near a Chinese food joint. Bill Senior appeared in-person to announce that despite the disruption of service, all pokemon remained in the system. He did not, however, announce when public service would be fully restored.  
  
With a sack of carry-out to top off Fiona and Hal before bed, Vincent's team headed out of town to their bargain motel. After almost two weeks living inside Room 8, rental-tent sleeping was a faint memory, and one that would never be exactly restored without the comfort of their night-light. They settled into an audience to view the film that Vincent had selected. Fiona managed to endure it completely without once laughing despite it being a comedy. This upset her slightly as even Phil seemed to understand most of its humor. Human culture was largely foreign to the weavile, and this film was from both a different region and a long-past era, presenting a world much different from her own and leaving her thoroughly confused afterward.  
  
“So, why aren't they allowed in the house?” She asked of Theodore.  
  
He gave her an indignant look. “Would you want slimy things like them in your house? They'd make a mess in minutes. You would be replacing the carpet—,” Theodore stopped, knowing that one cannot tell the difference between Hal asleep and Hal awake, even if his eyes are closed and rumbling snores are flowing from his nostrils, and that Hal is not somebody to insult under any circumstance. “Anyway, you'll get it someday, maybe.” He hummed one of the songs performed during the film while he slipped into bed. Phil picked up the tune and continued it with whistles until and after Vincent ran the shower for his bedding.  
  


* * *

  
Jackie finally decided to answer her phone, understanding that stubbornness is often stronger than patience, and that her phone would ring every thirty seconds until the sun rose again or the persistent caller nodded off. She opened it with a flick of her wrist and activated communication with a twitch.  
  
“Jack, am I rude?” Carl asked in a slightly mumbled voice.  
  
His sister became immediately irritated. “You're calling me at almost midnight; what do you think?”  
  
Carl repeated himself.  
  
“Yes, Caz, you are rude. You're rude to everyone you meet and you're double-rude to everyone you feel intimidated by. Did you not notice that the last time you looked in a mirror?”  
  
Carl paused for a moment to reflect. “It's just, Vera said something to me today and it stuck with me. She basically said that I would have her if I had said ‘please.’ ”  
  
Jackie pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “You wouldn't have her any more than Vincent has her. She may be registered to a ball that he owns but she comes and goes and does whatever she wants. She's as free now as she was at the ruins, so who cares? Go to bed, Caz. I'm hanging up now.”  
  
As the glow of his trainer's device's display faded, Carl sat in darkness at his small table, staring out through a window overlooking the rooftops of Linalool City. Even if he had been momentarily polite and captured that natu, he would have eventually acted to limit her freedom and in doing so, he would have treated her as a pokemon first and a friend not at all. Vera's uniquely-acute perception must have warned her about that danger. What the green bird meant by, “your heart, in the dark,” finally became clear to him. He did not not-say “Please” because he was rude to people, but because he did not, at that time, value her as a person to even be rude to.  
  


* * *

 


	6. Highly Curious

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 6: Highly Curious.  
  


* * *

  
“Are you kidding? She's practically an addict; takes one with every meal. Fiona spent all weekend at that Battle Arcade marathon game the Frontier set up at Coumarin Gym trying to rack up enough points to win more pills.”  
  
Jackie chewed on her straw and did not let it go just to speak. “Did she get one?”  
  
Vincent downed a French fry. “Three bottles, actually. Not because she won much—she was getting battered—but as soon as she could get back on her feet she was entering another match. I guess, knowing the brutality she's taken in her lifetime, that's probably nothing. I've never really believed that vitamin stuff worked, but Vera didn't say that they wouldn't make her grow taller, and she's still hung-up on thinking she's short; and recently, slow, too.”  
  
Jacqueline stabbed her straw through her cup's ice to get one last slurp before rising for a refill. “I thought she was pretty tall.”  
  
“She is; according to the pokedex you gave me, she's one of the tallest. But, she's shorter than the rest of my team except for Phil, and she said she was the smallest in her pack before she was trapped so I guess it's just a pet peeve sticking around.”  
  
Jackie smiled. “Girls always worry about their appearance, even the tough-on-the-outside ones, when they're around the boys, and the less important something is, the worse we'll worry about it. That's part of what makes us fun.” She left her seat and traveled to the soda fountain to refill both of their drinks. She returned to find Vincent poking at his pokedex, looking frustrated.  
  
“Do you think those pills actually do anything? I always thought they were a really profitable placebo to cash-in on kids desperate for an imperceptible edge.”  
  
Jacqueline's straw again fell under dental siege. “Yeah, they work. Daddy once supervised an R&D group that was working on making them stay effective. Used-to-be, after a while vitamins stopped helping and you had to spend days in a gym or in the field fighting the same boring battles over and over to focus on enhancing a stat. Today, if you can afford to, you can buy the right berries, a crate of vitamins, and tweak your pokemon's, how did Daddy put it, ‘combat-relevant attributes of interest’ with a few days of square meals and extra bed rest. Caz does that all the time; doesn't care that it makes half of his team sick to their stomachs before and after their matches.”  
  
Vincent leaned back and a little to his side. “I know he's your brother, so don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes I wonder what he cares about. I mean, he has done well, but you've got a better league record than he has, don't you?”  
  
She blushed faintly and nodded in affirmation. “Caz cares about showing off. Usually, more than he cares about doing something that's worth showing off. And, it's not like I did anything special to win National; I'm just better at keeping his team's morale up when facing tougher match-ups and they pulled through that year.”  
  
Vincent leaned forward. “You won with some of the same pokemon he bombed out with. I think that's something special.”  
  
Jacqueline smiled brightly, then beckoned him to lend back her old trainer's device. “I think I might be able to help you out with raising Fiona, if you like.”  
  
Both of their drinks were empty again when Jackie stopped pecking away at the T.D.'s touchscreen.  
  
“Okay, don't tell anyone I let you see this stuff. According to her battle record, mostly from that Frontier tent promo, and the vitals recorded by her ball and visits to pokecenters, it seems she was born for special attacks, and the calcium will bring that up even more, so you should probably focus on that. Weaviles are naturally suited for physical combat, so she'll never be a powerhouse, but trainers will have to change strategy in a hurry since she can use unexpected techniques that physical weaviles would never consider. Do you think she's modest?”  
  
Vincent was barely keeping up with all the information that Jackie poured over his head. “Well, compared to what I have heard about weavile behavior, I guess she's pretty modest except when she gets excited.”  
  
Jacqueline laughed, “No, silly; modest nature. If she is, her special attacks will be almost as good as her physical ones, so you should have her try all the moves she can learn. I see you've already got surf on her…”  
  
Vincent felt more like Jackie's lead-slot pokemon at this point, being trained in matters beyond his comprehension.  
  
“I'll save a note in here for you. Ice-beam you've gotta have, and shadow-ball should be good. If you can't find anyone who will trade you some T.M.'s, let me know, and we'll figure something out.” Jackie returned their device to him and slung her purse over her shoulder, breaking stride just before leaving the fast food joint to call out, “Don't forget, you owe me lunch; ciao!”  
  
Vincent and Jackie had been in a perpetual state of owing each other lunch since third grade.  
  


* * *

  
Another sign-up, another argument.  
  
Vincent slackened. “For the thousandth time, Tio, it actually has to be ‘toxic.’ That's the only poisonous move you can use in competition.”  
  
Theodore grumbled, “Officially,” while looking around the gym. A wide table indicated where judges would be seated; he knew that he could sneak in a poison-fang attack without any of them noticing. “Toxic sucks because toxic misses. Name one time I've fanged an opponent and not had them on the ground and twitching within twenty seconds.”  
  
Vincent pulled Tio close to whisper forcefully into his ear. “Fang's side-effect is supposed to fail more often than not and it's not that powerful. Whatever you do, it isn't natural. Can we get back to business, now? Do you think these guys are slow enough for you to sweep with eruptions, or should we stick with the generic sunny-day setup?”  
  
“Pikachu gets to cheat,” Theodore diverted.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Pikachu gets to cheat. Remember two years ago, Palmitoy Creek? I got my ass surfed off and the judges said it was okay because, supposedly, one in thirty 'chu from that made-up forest county learn how to use that technique naturally.”  
  
Vincent narrowed his eyes dismissively. “I remember you whining about it for the following week.”  
  
“It's a double-standard, this league letting those little rodents run around soaking honorable and fair fighters to the bone, but I get disqualified if I poison someone my own way.”  
  
Vincent tapped Tio's registration card with a pencil.  
  
The typhlosion looked around the gym again and judged his competition as best he could from the appearance of trainers present and the pokemon they let walk alongside themselves. “Yes, sunny-day; same-old same-old. I smell lots of water here.”  
  
Carl burst through Coumarin Gym's front doors, spotting Vincent immediately and interrupting the filling-out of forms. “En-garde, twerp! You can't escape fighting me today!”  
  
Vincent hoped otherwise and sought an excuse. “The gym floor is closed, you know. They're prepping for tonight's contests.”  
  
An elderly veteran wearing a fine robe approached the boys unseen and placed his hands on both trainers' shoulders. “My ring is empty and I would enjoy a little matinee if you wouldn't mind humoring an old man.” Carl and Vincent both noticed a badge on his gi; this was the gym leader that tonight's combatants were vying for a chance to meet.  
  
Minutes later, the sensei sat legs-folded upon a cushion near the vacant judges' table and began picking at a cup of instant noodles. He noticed that Vincent wore only five balls on his belt. “Three against three, if you please. I see one of us is short-handed at the moment.” Vincent and Carl selected their leads in secret and released them into the ring upon the sensei's signal.  
  
Phil whistled mockingly at Lucas; as formidable as the feraligatr could be, between Phil's ability and hidden-power, his options were few. His mass gave him great momentum and he was fast on his feet, but his balance was poor and his reach short. Phil cast an aqua-ring and bided his time while withstanding glancing blows until he found an opportunity to electrocute Lucas repeatedly.  
  
As Lucas fell to his knees and then elbows, and tapped out, Carl voiced a grunt of disgusted disappointment and quickly cycled two balls into his hands, using the first to remove his traditional starter from the ring without giving him a chance to carry himself and his dignity away under his own power.  
  
Vincent's familiarity with Carl's strategies guided his expectation of Lucas's replacement. He recalled Phil, knowing the vaporeon ought to be rather exhausted despite not letting any hint of such show.  
  
Materializing within a ring well before match time surprised and excited Fiona. “Huh? Oh, hey, cool. Whose ass am I gonna kick?” She turned around to see that Jean materialized opposite her. Jean's species was unknown to her, so she guessed according to his color and apparent dorsal fin. “Hey, Vinny, is that some sort of grass shark?”  
  
Vincent stood up straight and proud hoping to give her a boost in confidence. “Nope, Psychic and Fighting. I need to see if you're ready for a real fight. Do what damage you can manage and absolutely never let him get his hands on you.”  
  
Jean strode toward the ring's center, staring at Fiona with a steady gaze. Obviously a Dark-type, he chose to play a defensive strategy this time, even though he could feel Carl's desire to watch him slam her repeatedly against the mat.  
  
Fiona did better than Vincent expected, capitalizing on Jean's inability to get a read on her mind. She feinted a few attacks and squeezed in opportunistic ice-punches. She fought well, but she needed more training and experience to become truly effective. Their battle ended abruptly. She failed to withdraw quickly enough after one of her marginally-effective attacks. The gallade reached outward with invisible speed rivaling that of a trap-door spider. Jean gripped her head from behind, slammed her face into his on-coming fist, and in a rather merciful gesture, slung her unconscious body out of the ring like a rag doll.  
  
Theodore strode into the ring, wiggling his shoulders as though he needed to limber up and engaged Jean in combat while Vincent gathered his fainted weavile and said, “You did good,” before recalling her into her luxury ball.  
  
Battle between Jean and Tio usually came down to whether or not the latter could successfully not-think about how he would attack. Jean could read any strategy that the typhlosion might develop, so Theodore relied on spontaneous decisions. The gallade sensed only, “It's coming,” from Theodore until it came. Jean attempted an aggressive strategy for this round, but getting close enough for close-combat also meant dancing beside the fire. Theodore hopped over an ankle-sweep and unleashed enough flame in one burst to almost suffocate his foe, causing Jean to black-out within seconds.  
  
The sensei finished his noodles and held out the emptied cup to be immediately taken by an aide. Carl expressed his disappointment that Jean let Vincent's weavile play around, and wear him down, for so long, but at least Jean roughed up the typhlosion a little. Finishing him off should be no problem for Carl's third team member, a new addition that Carl took on as a quirky side-project during this summer. His poliwrath's appearance drew a reflexive sunny-day out of Theodore. Amongst the other trainers in Coumarin Gym, a nearby castform quickly took the opportunity to undergo metamorphosis.  
  
After forty seconds of non-committal engagement, Carl's frog was still frosty and Theodore was running out of both stamina and patience. The typhlosion almost stepped out of the ring after receiving a staggering waterfall-laced uppercut. Panting heavily and deeply, Tio crouched low to manage his center of gravity. Seymour, amused by Theodore's posture, blew a gentle bubble-beam over his head to taunt him.  
  
Theodore coughed and gargled whatever came up while stepping around the rim toward his trainer's position. He spat a bloody wad of fluid, as much olive green in color as it was crimson red. A bone somewhere in his body clicked as he straightened up. “Ow. Screw this. Boss, call me a cab.”  
  
Vincent knew the judge was watching carefully and as wise as his age suggested. He expected soon to be disqualified.  
  
Theodore exaggerated his fatigue and when Seymour overextended, Tio pounced atop him, delivering a powerful bite as they rolled across the ring. Vincent started counting to twenty while his friend evaded the frog's increasingly sloppy attacks, but stopped at twelve, when Seymour's legs gave out. Collapsed to the floor, the frog gurgled softly and twitched with an irregular rhythm.  
  
The sensei applauded slowly but loudly, watching Theodore closely as he limped toward Vincent, mouth agape and with tongue, lips, and gums tinted green. They looked into each other's eyes and said nothing. Vincent recalled Theodore and re-affixed his typhlosion's friend ball to his belt. The veteran stood with a little effort and approached both trainers a moment after Carl recalled Seymour and turned to pout his way to the exit. “Thank you for your performances, children, but now I am afraid that the rest of this evening may be unable to best what I have just seen. Short-handed one, whatever the outcome of tonight's competition, we should share a discussion afterward.” The old man returned to the back halls of Coumarin Gym, his cushion carried by another aide. Onlookers congratulated Vincent on impressing the gym leader, but he could only dread what their conversation would be about.  
  
Vincent's telephone rang as he traveled to the pokecenter for his team's rejuvenation. It was Jackie, calling to warn him that Carl might show up early to pick a fight with him. He thanked her for the warning. Inside, the pokecenter was swamped, so Vincent finished up his registration cards after taking a number. With convenient timing, his registration paperwork exchanged places with medical reports. They revealed no surprises. Phil was fine, Fiona would have an almost-literally splitting headache upon release from her ball, and Theodore's scan showed an inconclusive abnormality.  
  
Vincent released Phil at the center's door. The vaporeon materialized with a smile and whistled according to habit in celebration of a fight stacked in his favor. Noticing Theodore's absence, Phil hopped up and leaned against Vincent's body, pawing at Tio's ball and emitting a quizzical sound while looking upward.  
  
With a pat on Phil's shoulders, Vincent grunted. “Tio broke the rules so he gets a time-out. We've got a few hours before the first round, so let's get these forms dropped off and relax for a bit.” Upon returning to their motel room, Vincent reconsidered and suspended Theodore's sentence. As soon as he was liberated, the typhlosion gave his best buddy a big and literally warm hug; a defensive mechanism that protected Tio after doing something he knew he really should not do but that needed to be done nonetheless. Vincent released Fiona next onto the room's bed. He jostled her awake.  
  
“Duuu, why so… hurting, awweiii.”  
  
Vincent propped her into a seated pose while Theodore fetched a small paper cup from the bathroom and brought it to Fiona with water and headache medication. After taking the dose and taking a moment, her perception cleared enough to recognize faces.  
  
“Vin-n-ny, did you just teach me all the moves?” she asked while her trainer nudged her a little to the left and right, countering her imbalanced leans.  
  
He caught her chin with his right hand. “No. You learned why I said not to let Jean get ahold of you.”  
  
Fiona concentrated on that battle, and remembered everything up to the big green guy appearing within the ring.  
  
Theodore looked on the bright side. “Be glad he was in a good mood. You seemed pretty happy to have your teeth grow back when you evolved. Get on Jean's bad side and half of them will be scattered around the arena.”  
  
As Vincent reached for his phone to call Information and then order Chinese, it rang in his hands and displayed an unfamiliar number. “Uh, who is this?” he asked.  
  
A familiar chirp was identification enough. “I will provide supper shortly.” Vera hung up immediately, as her suction cup's grip on the phone handset would last only a few seconds more. She thanked the restaurant owner in his native tongue and offered personalized readings to diners who mocked their fortune cookies' prophetic value while awaiting her order.  
  
Vincent entered the bathroom. “Tio, Vera's got the food covered. You can let Hungry Hungry Hal out.” Although he spoke only forcefully enough to carry across the motel room, every syllable pounded its way through Fiona's head. She whined softly and shifted her body around, slipping down from the headboard. Mindful of her claws, she manipulated the pillow a little. Despite being in one piece, she honestly preferred her tattered bundle of remnants.  
  


* * *

  
Returning from the back halls, Carl shoved his way to the head of the line. “I'm a three-time semifinalist, I have a match in two hours, do something!”  
  
Coumarin Pokecenter's desk nurse held no compassion for anyone disturbing her queue, and in a vent of her frustration carelessly slammed a pokeball against her counter as she returned it to its owner. “Go to the market and buy antidotes if you want to keep trying. Whatever species of pokemon poisoned it—”  
  
“I told you, typhlosion!”  
  
“—if none of our machines can clear its toxic, you'll have to check your pokemon in for treatment or have him walk it off.”  
  
Carl pocketed Seymour's ball and stormed away, resolving himself to buy a pallet-load of antidote if necessary to restore his frog to fighting form. What puzzled him was how it became so badly poisoned that center rejuvenation machines failed to filter out the toxins. Carl felt tempted to call Vincent and ask, but unwilling to humble himself, that question joined another left to stand unresolved: how Vincent outmaneuvered Carl at Indan Falls' game room exchange.  
  
Soon, a case of antidotes proved largely ineffective.  
  


* * *

  
Coumarin Gym filled with audience members from everywhere news of Iwamoto's visit reached. Officially retired, the old master only accepted challenges a couple of times per season, and only toward the end as a surprise substitute for a scheduled leader.  
  
A green bird tucked her beak between her boys' heads and embraced them as they approached the gym. “Just let him rant. He can't do anything as long as you don't. He won't risk getting tossed out and missing his chance at this badge.”  
  
Six steps inside, Carl grabbed Vincent and tried to push him against a wall, although he lacked necessary leverage. Theodore halted their altercation, fully prepared to put Carl through the wall instead if he so much as twitched aggressively, but the semifinalist merely scowled and spat his rage, blind to Vera walking behind and beyond them. She ignored their confrontation completely and maneuvered toward an alcove beyond the lobby seating.  
  
Carl made an effort to stare down Vincent. “I don't know what you two did to my fighter but whatever it was, it wasn't legal and I'm going to get both of you kicked out of the League for it.” He twisted a little to glare at Theodore. “Let go of me, Gorilla, before I have you put down for violent tendencies amongst mankind.”  
  
Theodore released Carl with a shove and a shrug, briefly venting a rank of flame.  
  
A scruffy, late middle-aged man with a noticeable mole on his chin loaded up on junk food at a vending machine. Vera watched him struggle with a cash slot that rejected his currency in a cliche way. History's repeating itself made her smile, as she remembered a boy who suffered the very same curse when he visited the ruins.  
  
“If you purchased your sustenance at a real store, you would get more for your money,” she advised.  
  
The hiker, more concerned with not pressing two buttons at once with his fat and stubby fingers, did not bother to turn and face his conversation partner. Something in her voice's undertones, however, seemed strangely familiar and soothing. He replied as though to a familiar friend. “I didn't reckon I'd get hungry until I got here, and I don't want to leave and let other folk get all the good seats. This place's filling up fast.”  
  
Vera leaned against a tall rubbish bin. “Are you expecting a good show?”  
  
The hiker's chocolate bar jammed. Consequentially, the vending machine became a foe to combat using strategically-placed blows.  
  
“I don't know. Some of the guys at work said that an old famous guy was the featured gym trainer for tonight, so I fig—got ya!” The hiker tucked his candy inside a small pocket in his ninetales' vest and turned about. “Figured I'd come down and see what all the fuss—” The hiker immediately recognized the xatu before him as the one he met in a small and rather hostile village, and lost his voice.  
  
Vera tilted her head. “Should we close our eyes and pretend I'm not here so you can continue?”  
  
After a gentle nudge from his companion, the hiker's tongue sprang to life. “Uh, no, just, what are you doing here?”  
  
She straightened up and stepped once from the bin. “Ostensibly competing. The battle is not going to go too well for me, but I am not the reason why I'm here right now.”  
  
A little small talk exchanged between them before they were interrupted by one of the sensei's aides. “Crying-Tree, I've been looking all over for you, I—” The aide bowed in apology when he realized his mistake. “Excuse me, madame xatu, the one I seek is another of your kind.”  
  
Vera closed her eyes for a moment, seemingly in acknowledgment of the aide's words. “I sense him on the rooftop. He's watching the sunset. He will meet with you in four minutes.”  
  
The aide thanked her for the information and took leave.  
  


* * *

  
Vera's prediction of her team's performance seemed almost a lie as Vincent won early rounds rather easily. However, the penultimate match-up presented a Rock-heavy strategy. Replacing Zap with Fiona exacerbated an already problematic weakness to that element. Phil held out for as long as he could, bringing down two before facing a cradily that withstood multiple hits. Vera stalled by instilling confusion, but caught a rock-slide that removed her from play. Hal earned one knock-out before being forced to tap and Theodore rushed in recklessly for maximum damage against a tyranitar before getting clobbered. That left Fiona with two more foes to face even if she could finish off the dime-store dinosaur. She could not, and Vincent's chance at the gym badge became forfeit.  
  
The hiker felt strangely mesmerized while watching a weavile named Fiona in the ring, deftly dodging that tyranitar's attacks as though she had seen them all before. Hearing her cry out in pain when she finally went down, he recognized that the little shit had years of experience.  
  
Vincent gathered his things and left ringside. He planned to abandon the show to instead restore his pokemon's health at a center when one of the sensei's aides approached and offered to take care of his pokemon, as though Vincent were to compete in the next round. He accepted the generosity and found a seat in the gallery. Carl rained-out Madeline's rock party. Even Seymour had an easy time of it, despite his motions' unsteady executions. With that, Carl earned a shot at an uncommon badge.  
  
An announcer informed the audience of a fifty-minute intermission. Vincent received his team and released them all. Theodore stood in his usual position, and scanned for Carl. Phil indicated that he wanted to rest and Vincent recalled him again. Hal accepted some money and wandered off, looking for something to nosh. Fiona was unsure why they remained at the gym after losing, and asked, to which Vincent replied, “The gym leader said earlier that he wanted to talk with me, and when I tried to leave, one of his helpers took all of you back for rejuvenation and asked me to stay, so I guess we're waiting to meet him after the final.”  
  
Vera leaned down and prepared Fiona. “He is not going to be able to hurt you tonight, I promise.”  
  
Fiona scrunched her brow, thinking she was talking about the gym leader. Then, a flourish of wing feathers beckoned a distant hiker to come over and visit. The weavile panicked. “Vinny. V—Vinny! That's him! Put me back in the ball before he sees me!” Her motions were sporadic, trying to hide behind Vincent, get her ball to use on herself, run away, and defend herself at the same time. In sum, she did not achieve much but spin and twist ineffectually.  
  
Vincent intended to grant her request, but Vera interceded and admitted, “I think this might be a good meeting.”  
  
He rested his hands on Fiona's shoulders to reassure her. Looking across the gallery, he recognized the hiker, and that this was the second time his xatu arranged a meeting with him. “ ‘Think,’ ‘might be,’ Vera? I don't like it when you use uncertain words.”  
  
Shade needed permission to act, but felt ready to tear Fiona apart; her evolution only making her a larger target. He estimated that the odds of receiving that command were roughly even.  
  
Vera opened their conversation. “We have not been properly introduced, although you've heard our names announced during the contest. I am Vera, and these are three of my friends: Vincent, Theodore, and Fiona.”  
  
The hiker quoted the aide, “Madame Xatu,” and took up Vera's wing, kissing what would be the top of her hand if she had one. His respectful human gesture drew a blush beneath her feathers, which stood up and out a little. He then shook Vincent's hand with a crushing grip and said, “My friends call me ‘Mac.’ ” He offered his hand to the typhlosion, and the typhlosion returned his squeeze with both paws, four times the strength, and a warning glare. Finally, Mac slowly looked down his nose at the weavile. She stared up at him for a few seconds and he felt slightly intimidated. Those red eyes of hers still burned, and more brightly now than ever before. They were a lot nearer to his face than he was accustomed to, too. With a swift motion, she swung her arm and clawed hand upwards, palm facing down. Mac, startled, retreated a half step. Shade almost took her gesture as justification to attack, but her claws were retracted.  
  
Fiona wiggled her fingers a little. “Well, aren't you going to shake my hand, too?” She drew her widest grin, showing that her left-side teeth had grown back. “I promise I won't bite.”  
  
Mac timidly shook her hand. Both he and Fiona expected to feel a soulless coldness when touching the flesh of the enemy, yet each other's hands were warm. Shade's stance slackened, completely disappointed that his interests had lost the coin flip.  
  
Their extended party returned to the gallery early to secure good seats. Hal plodded through the gym's front doors not long afterward and trod over with a huge load of fast food. Turning the gallery into a cafeteria breached policy, but few—be they staff, League official, or otherwise—would willingly approach an obviously hungry dragon to argue about such matters. Despite his capability to be a glutton, Hal happily shared his haul with his teammates and their new friends.  
  
When the dragonite settled in beside Shade, the ninetales leaned against his trainer's legs; a defensive behavior that Shade had not exhibited often since absorbing power from a fire stone. Shade saw Hal at work inside the ring and knew that one waterfall punch from the orange titan could put him out of commission. He worried despite knowing that Hal lacked any motivation to attack, and in fact seemed rather interested in making a friend of the fox, offering a bite of a plain hamburger.  
  


* * *

  
The audience fell silent of its own volition as a nonagenarian emerged from the back rooms, his aides carrying his cushion, six ornate hand-carved apricorn pokeballs in a wooden tray with gold inlays, and two cups of instant noodles. Carl approached and bowed respectfully before the sensei, who returned Carl's bow with a slight nod. Iwamoto took his seat and assaulted his first cup of noodles while the announcer declared the format and rattled off the standard combat rules.  
  
Obliged to select his lead pokemon, Carl choose to ante low and released Seymour knowing that, still intoxicated, his contribution might be rather limited. Iwamoto donned his glasses, verified that the creature was indeed still poisoned, removed them, and covered his eyes with his right arm. He selected a ball with his left without ceremony and released its occupant, a pichu.  
  
Carl chuckled, “Pichu? You've gotta be kidding me.”  
  
Jackie, standing at the rear of the audience shouted, “Don't be a jerk, Caz!”  
  
Iwamoto's yellow mouse stood still as Seymour approached to attack. It staggered back, enduring his blow and exploiting the contact to paralyze Seymour with a static discharge. Two consecutive charge-beams put the toad down.  
  
Carl felt insulted and wanted to see the mouse suffer. With swift motions, Carl exchanged Seymour for Jean.  
  
Iwamoto clapped his hands twice. His pichu ran back to enjoy a small hug and a couple noodles before the sensei released his next fighter. Iwamoto's delay irritated Carl, and Iwamoto knew this by watching Jean's expression. Finally he opened Crying-Tree's ball. Maintaining the stalling effort, Crying-Tree merely cast wish upon himself to keep his stamina up while letting Jean's ineffective Fighting-type techniques knock away feathers that were due to be plucked during preening anyway. Carl's frustration grew and brought Jean to stumble. At that opening, Crying-Tree pecked him senseless and, following a desperate double-team from Jean, finished him off with an aerial-ace, just to be showy.  
  


* * *

  
Mac twisted his head around; his spine crackled loudly. The noise drew a nervous shifting in her seat from Fiona, but he did not say what she was used to him saying after straightening his neck. “That kid ain't having too easy of a time of it, is he?”  
  
Vincent did not reply, his attentions engrossed in watching Carl suppressing his brewing tantrum. Relieved and feeling a little silly, Fiona sighed faintly.  
  
Vera leaned forward from an awkwardly crouched position in the row behind Vincent and Mac. “He is accustomed to battling against novices and elevated gym leaders called ‘elite’ for lack of a better term. He will never earn a badge from a true master like Iwamoto-sama.”  
  
A definite statement from Vera always caught Vincent's attention. “Never? That's a long-term prediction. Can't he make a choice somewhere along the line to change that? You told me that having choices makes people impossible to predict perf—”  
  
“Never.” Vera's interjection was almost a croak, as her emotion interfered with her effort to modulate her voice into a word. She stood and left the gallery seating.  
  


* * *

  
When Lucas fell against one energy-ball too many, the audience shouted, “¡Olé!” Pablo shook his maracas, and Carl lost his temper.  
  
“I did not just lose to a ludicolo… you cheating old fart, you picked your team after you saw my guys winning all night long just so you could embarrass me with silly counters!”  
  
Crying-Tree felt he was doing well-enough a job of that on his own.  
  
Iwamoto gave his second cup's final noodle to Cookie the pichu before responding. “Sou da. You failed to overcome my challenge. You will not be receiving a badge from me, tonight.” The master rose slowly and exited with Crying-Tree walking beside him and Cookie on his shoulder while his aides gathered the cushion, pokeballs, and empty noodle cups. Most of the audience fell into low discussion as they filtered out through the front doors with their consensus being that Carl should lose a badge for his immature display.  
  
Mac groaned as he stood, spine popping once again. “Ouch. These chairs do me nothing but bad. I gotta get into my lazy-ass recliner and hear something soft before bed. Got work to do tomorrow. Vincent, I'll catch up with you later.” His eyes narrowed as he looked toward Fiona. “No doubt about that.” The hiker squeezed around Hal as the dragonite sucked dry the last of his meal's gratis ketchup packets, and departed with Shade following closely behind.  
  
Crying-Tree soon approached Vincent with a note written in a very fine hand, reading, “Iwamoto-sama expects your presence.” The xatu halted Theodore, and thus the other pokemon also following along, and took Vincent alone into the rear chambers.  
  


* * *

  
Within a claustrophobic room Vincent found a fine rug, a futon, an elderly man sitting on a cushion beside a lit incense burner, a dozing pichu, a folder containing six sheets of paper, and another opened cup of instant noodles. Crying-Tree shut the door behind Vincent, who quickly sat at the near end of the rug and waited in silence.  
  
Iwamoto withdrew his spectacles from a case tucked inside his obi and placed them upon his nose. “Did you enjoy the games, tonight?” Cookie looked up and squeaked, receiving a nod from her master. She quickly picked up a pair of hashi almost as long as she was tall and tried to finish off the remaining noodles.  
  
Vincent nodded, “Yes, Sir, although I was disappointed that I did not earn a badge this time. I hoped to make eight, or at least come close, before going to college. But, I've ignored my team's weakness to Rock-type because I don't want to upset them, or myself, by sending one away to make room for someone new just because so-and-so doesn't mind getting gravel in his shoes. Those goals conflict on nights like this.”  
  
Iwamoto almost interrupted, but opted instead to investigate. “You registered only five pokemon tonight. You would not need to send anyone away and would be completing your team by inviting a sixth.”  
  
Vincent spoke freely. “Tio was always ‘enough’ companionship for me. I started adding when I tried, and enjoyed, the traveling part of pokemon. Still, I always told myself I would never have too many pokemon. I wanted to make sure I could pay attention to all of them. So, I don't have many but the way they act makes me feel neglectful. Five might be just barely too many.”  
  
“Neglectful?”  
  
“Phil, my vaporeon, is a bit of an outsider because he doesn't talk like the others. I offered to buy the T.M. for him but he refused it. I guess he's happy this way, but I feel like I never truly connected with him outside of battling or playing at a pond. Since he evolved, Hal, my dragonite, seems to only want to be out of his ball so he can eat. Tio used to get jealous because he would ride on my shoulders as a chubby dratini, but that ended when he evolved to dragonair. He started asking to stay in his ball; he got clumsier as well as longer and stronger. When he evolved again, he wanted to be out at first, but after a while he was back to being in more than out.”  
  
Iwamoto's silence pressured Vincent to continue.  
  
“I used to have an ampharos, but he left me. I think Tio was right; that he felt betrayed because I wasn't dedicating my life to the League. I don't think I should be adding another pokemon just to be able to fill out a sixth entry card when I already have three, well, two pokemon who aren't very happy.”  
  
Sensei leaned forward slightly. “Young man, do you feel that you neglected your ampharos friend?” Cookie climbed up into his lap and curled up beneath her master's weathered hand.  
  
Vincent reflected for a moment. “No, I didn't neglect him, but I think I neglected his dreams. He wanted to be a champion while the rest of us saw Pokemon League as a hobby.” Cookie stretched, squirmed, and settled in comfortably while the young man spoke. “I did everything I could for him, though. He loves music, and I bought him every album he ever asked me for. I got him into singing contests whenever I could, and he did very well. I was hoping that he would be satisfied by being a winner using his real talents, because I didn't need my psychic to tell me that being a successful fighter wasn't in his future. He just wasn't willing to change his course.”  
  
Iwamoto stroked his pichu's fur gently. “I hope that you have a chance in the future to restore your friendship or to come to terms with its end. I sense that you would choose to keep your sixth slot open for him despite the suggestions of better judgment.” With his free hand, Iwamoto flipped through the sheets, sorting three to one side and three to another. After briefly reviewing one trio, he sat two of those three with the others. “I decided to meet with you tonight because today I saw something that I have never seen before, and at my age that is quite an accomplishment. You've trained your typhlosion to use the poison-fang technique, and with completely astonishing efficacy. May I ask how, and why?”  
  
Vincent shifted uneasily. “You may, Sir, but I don't have a very good answer. Tio seemed to learn it for himself. I had to barter for the T.M. to teach him toxic because he wanted to use poison in competition and I knew that we'd be disqualified if the judges saw him using poison-fang.”  
  
Moving carefully to ensure that he did not disturb Cookie, Iwamoto took up the remaining sheet of paper. Speaking through it, “You would be disqualified, but the judges would be wrong. Pokemon can know many unusual moves, including ones they cannot be made to learn. Usually this happens through cross-breeding, but not always. A natural move is always legitimate in competition, even if it is rare or unique.” He gestured with the paper. “This is the summary produced by my personal rejuvenation machine when my aide restored your team. Do you notice anything unusual about this information?”  
  
Sensei passed the page to Vincent, who perused it immediately. Aside from being a far nicer and more-complete report than the pokecenter public received, nothing seemed unusual until he checked the diagnostic information that followed a familiar warning about an abnormality that always appeared on Theodore's reports. Beneath that, this report added that the pokemon seemed to be recovering or had recently recovered from an infection with properties similar to, but distinct from, pokerus. It also admitted a hypothetical explanation, despite it being an implausibility: Theodore was a Fire/Poison-typed typhlosion. Elemental resistance data backed up that hypothesis, showing unusual susceptibility to Psychic-type forces, resistance to Fighting-type moves, and almost impervious defense against Bug- and Grass-type effects.  
  
Iwamoto waited for Vincent to return the page to him before continuing. “Whatever the cause of his unique talents, you have created a skilled fighter. And, judging by what I have seen of his behavior and what Crying-Tree tells me, a wholly dedicated friendship. One with a strength that I have seen before, but only a few times. Cherish it.”  
  
Vincent held his breath for a moment and remembered all the time he and Tio spent together. “I do, Sensei.”  
  
Iwamoto looked up toward the door. Before realizing that the old man was listening to a telepathic message from Crying-Tree, still standing vigil outside, Vincent considered the gesture as an order to leave. Pressing a hidden trigger, Iwamoto unlocked a small drawer inside his incense burner and from within, withdrew an unfamiliar badge and presented it to Vincent. “I believe that you have earned this, and will continue to live up to its standard, for the betterment of the two we did not discuss. Please, wear it now. Your girlfriend will be happy to see it. In time, you also may find it carries a few other benefits.”  
  
Vincent started to say many things at once, but Iwamoto raised a palm as Crying-Tree opened the door. “It is late in the evening. Please, humor an old man and let him digest his noodles with his pets bird and mouse in tranquility.”  
  


* * *

  
Crying-Tree returned Vincent to Coumarin Gym's lobby, where his team, plus another person, waited for him. Vera and Jackie were exchanging girl-talk while Hal loafed on a bench and both Tio and Fio seemed to be sharing ultimate boredom.  
  
“Alright, guys,” he announced to capture their attention, “I'm ready to crash and I bet you all are, too.”  
  
“Listen, Buster, I—” Jackie was prepared to lay into him for apparently ignoring her visit, but her topic changed instantly when she noticed his new badge. “Oh—my—God! He actually gave that to you; you didn't just beat up an old man and steal it, did you?” Vincent did not have a chance to deny the assault charge before Jackie leapt at him and gave him a hug. “I'm so proud of you! And this is great because when Caz sees it he's going to explode. I mean it, bloody chunks all over the place!”  
  
As Theodore prepared to take his usual position walking beside Vincent while they exited the facility, Jacqueline stole his space and proceeded to explain that Iwamoto's secret badge was something that he only gave out once every few years, and that it would carry a lot of respect amongst those knowledgeable enough to recognize it.  
  


* * *

 


	7. Hot Tempered

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 7: Hot Tempered.  
  


* * *

  
Vincent and Theodore discussed finances and other things alone, as Vera was away meditating somewhere awkward and the others were sleeping soundly. Spinning Jacqueline's pokedex on an undersized breakfast table in his motel room, Vincent concluded, “So, in summary, Tio: we have two badges to earn, one week to earn them, and four days of room-and-board in our pockets.”  
  
Theodore hunched forward, which brought his upper body over the table and his face within inches of Vincent's. “Not gonna make it, Boss.”  
  
“Nope. We might win this gym if we're lucky, but… there's always next summer.”  
  
“And, summer courses.”  
  
“There's gotta be a gym near the university. We'll watch the schedule to catch a couple wandering leaders that we can get numbers seven and eight from. Then, it's just a matter of taking extra courses during the next spring so I can free up a summer term and play the fourth-tier circuit.”  
  
Theodore sat up straight. “I had to learn half of your class material and teach it to you to keep your grade point average over 3.5 in high school, Boss. I don't think we can handle extra load to keep summers open.”  
  
Vincent leaned forward. “Well, then you do my coursework and I'll chase after the title without you.”  
  
“Okay,” Theodore leaned again to meet him, “but, I get your diploma.”  
  
“I can't wait to see you shake hands with the college Pres'.”  
  
Theodore lowered his voice a little. “Jackie is going to college this fall, too, isn't she?”  
  
Vincent remained near but glanced away from his friend and perched his chin on his left fist. “Yeah, a much nicer one, too.”  
  
The typhlosion shifted half-way into his impression voice. “Rich-people-private, gender-segregated dorms, and it's reasonably near yours?”  
  
“She can probably afford an apartment off-campus. I think she was checking a few places out over the weekend when we met in Coumarin. I doubt she's been traveling the same way we have just to trade lunches.”  
  
“Even with her own place,” Tio gently touched Vincent's chin to recapture his glance, “Jackie is going to get cabin fever, fast, cooped up in a place like that. Isn't it about time you started owing each other dinners instead of lunches?”  
  
Vincent's cheek twitched. “I don't know. I mean, yeah, but I can't do that to Carl. He'd go nuts and have to be committed.”  
  
“Just go for it, Boss. My nose is better than yours. She's holding out just for you. Don't let her down.”  
  
“I'll try not to, but it's gonna feel weird.”  
  
“Going to dinner with Jackie won't feel weird compared to explaining that your typhlosion is a non-negotiable part of the package. That's going to require precise wording.”  
  
Vincent reached across the table and teased Tio's fur. “Ha! She loves fluffy, cute pokemon like you, and I'm sure we can afford a king-size bed. No problem.”  
  
Both Vincent and Theodore imagined the situation their discussion wandered into. The images they visualized, while quite dissimilar, seemed plausible enough from each's perspective. Straining her powers somewhat, Vera, eavesdropping from her position near the pinnacle of Hexyloxy Harbor's radio tower, successfully piggy-backed a psychic message on its transmission just for them: “Don't forget about me, boys. I would feel left out if you skipped my turn.”  
  
After a moment of shock, realizing her bold intrusion and admission, Vincent and Theodore slowly faced each other again and simultaneously asked, “What were you thinking about that made her say that?”  
  
Theodore admitted his guilt through escape. “It's after seven. I think I'll see if this place's promise of breakfast is any good.” Pacing along the walkway, he glanced at the pool area. His emotions rose and fell, first as he noticed a hot tub, and second, a sign reading, “No pokemon allowed in the water.” He arrived at a small room attached to the office lobby via sliding pocket doors that served as a communal kitchen area. A number of undersized tables stood in a loose array. One could not stand on its own, apparently, as it was bolted to the wall with a metal bracket. Of those tables' chairs, those occupied were occupied by older folk. Although not intimidated, that did make Theodore nervous. Older folk, especially those from abroad, tended to believe that a Fire-type starter belongs in one of two places: a new trainer's pokeball clip or an old trainer's electronic kennel except when there are fall leaves to rake and burn.  
  


* * *

  
Concerned by his apparent condition, Shade roused his master with great effort. Zap provided Irish coffee and headache medication.  
  
Mortimer needed a second chance to swallow the pills, one having missed his mouth. “Thank you,” he grumbled. That statement he directed toward his ninetales. “You better not be lying to me,” he grumbled. That statement he directed toward his ampharos. Then, he handed that pokemon his mostly-emptied mug.  
  
“You can trust me, Master. There is no way he'll get to eight badges and qualify for League playoffs. It took him five years to get five badges and you said he struck-out again last Monday. There's only time for Vince to try one more gym before he heads back. Vera isn't the type to give him an air-lift home unless his life depends on it, and she keeps him out of that kind of trouble. Hal refused the fly H.M. because he's afraid of heights—falling, actually—even though the whole point of the H.M. is to help you fly stable despite having a trainer on your back.”  
  
“Xatu's a psychic. They could teleport home, from center to center.”  
  
“She used it often when she was small, but since she evolved, she rarely does except to play tricks on people and claims she can't use the silver posts. I think she could manage if it were to save his life, but that's the same situation as flying. Just wait, Master. He'll walk right up to you.”  
  
Mortimer reclaimed his mug and finished his drink. “That xatu; quite a beaut'. I wonder if I can get my hands on her, too.”  
  
Zap's expression soured at what the hiker suggested. “Maybe, Master, but you won't be able to catch her by surprise, Sir.”  
  
“We'll see about that.” The hiker waved his mug around in a small circle. “Well? Refill!”  
  
His waiter swiftly handled the order.  
  
“Gonna be ready, Shadey?” His ninetales barked sharply. “Thought so. When I get that little shit back in this cabin, she's all yours; no limits. I've been inconsiderately selfish. Feathers was your friend, too. I should'a let you get it over with a long time ago.”  
  
Zap returned with Mortimer's mug. The man drank it all at once.  
  
“Wash that out. I gotta roll before I come up late.” He quickly changed clothes and threw on his boots in one continuous motion. He paused only once, to turn on his radio before leaving.  
  


* * *

  
“I'm getting food and coffee for my master,” Theodore issued as his excuse under pressure of dirty looks from other motel guests, with mixed honesty. People-food and coffee for himself he omitted, while the words ‘food’ and ‘coffee’ strained to encompass frozen breakfast products in a mini-fridge and coffee so weak it could darken upon adding creme if any availed itself. The microwave's keypad functionality proved limited to ‘9,’ ‘6,’ ‘3,’ and ‘start.’ The poor soul who used it last gave up at ‘63:39,’ and after Theodore poked ‘clear’ without effect a few times, he solved the problem by unplugging the device for a moment. Clean and abundant, paper plates proved a singular saving grace of his continental breakfast. Theodore wondered which continent considered this situation a proper breakfast, and felt thankful that his master held no interest in traveling abroad.  
  
Returning to his room, Theodore left a couple microwaved sausage patties near Vincent—he still pondering a region map—and tested the television, in hopes that something campy might be airing.  
  
Fiona awoke with a start. The scent of cheap coffee caused her body to expect a bath of joe. Theodore glanced at her without suspending his channel surfing; that, until he landed upon a station dedicated to repeats.  
  
Sauntering toward Vincent, Fiona reached up slightly and squeezed his shoulders as she walked behind his chair. “Are we going to pick some fights today?”  
  
Vincent undermined her hopeful demeanor by describing a day of travel, instead, although he did at least promise her participation in any field challenges. He hoped to avoid any and all since he had little time to spare in pursuit of one more shot at a gym badge before turning his journey homeward. He stuffed the remaining half of one sausage patty into his mouth and offered the second to Fiona. She accepted it eagerly and slipped into his seat as he left for the washroom to awaken Phil and make himself presentable.  
  
As Fiona swallowed her sausage, Vincent's telephone rang.  
  
“Answer it, Shorty,” said Theodore without breaking clicker rhythm. “Did all the networks decide to go to commercial together? It's like women and restaurant toilets.”  
  
Fiona fumbled the phone while figuring out a way to hold it stable and operate its buttons.  
  
Its display identified the caller as Jacqueline. “Vinny, you aren't on the road yet, are you?”  
  
Fiona hopped onto the bed and did her best for a first-timer. “No, he's doing a shower with Phil.”  
  
Jackie tried not to laugh but suppressed giggles distorted her speech nonetheless. “That sounds like fun. I hope Tio isn't jealous. Listen, I'm taking the bullet train because I've already beaten all the leaders that are hosting locally this weekend. If you guys want to come with me to Tartaroyal, I'll buy the tickets and you'll buy the meals.”  
  
Fiona bounced to her feet. “I better ask him right now, hold on.” She discarded the telephone against the bedspread and dashed across the room to see Vincent. She gave no consideration to tact as she threw open the shower curtain. “Hey Vin', Jack—wow, your thinger's a lot nicer looking than his was! Jackie wants to buy us train tickets if you buy her food. Say ‘Yes’?”  
  
Vincent froze with a blush for a moment. Phil in particular could not be kept away from a running shower and all his other pokemon saw their master nude at least once before, but Fiona never before saw him exposed such and he wished she saw a more dignified image than himself washing his upper legs and ass cheeks. “Uh, well, ask her to hold for two minutes.”  
  
Phil lost his composure and whistled a chuckle as Fiona trotted away nonchalantly to find Theodore in impression-mode keeping Jacqueline occupied.  
  
“That's right. Don't trust no pokedex and be ready for anything. T pities the fool who ain't expecting the unexpected. Then, T gives 'em the bite and The Boss counts to twenty.”  
  
Jackie monitored the Pokemon League mailing list through her father's account and noticed a message from Iwamoto-sama petitioning for poison-fang to be added to typhlosion's roster of recognized techniques; his message was posted the morning after Vincent received his badge. Theodore seemed eager to proudly confirm her suspicions.  
  
Vincent emerged in a towel and received his phone from Theodore. Quickly they settled the terms of their agreement while Vincent's team prepared to rush to Hexyloxy Terminal with twenty minutes remaining to make their departure.  
  
Vera watched from afar as her friend dashed away from the motel after dropping off his key. Vincent would expect her traditional last-second appearance, and he would be disappointed, for she chose to travel in her own way. She took flight from the radio tower and did not touch ground again until reaching a little village in front of a rustic general store that permitted no pokemon within its walls.  
  
Vincent blasted through automatic doors that narrowly cleared his way and he almost crashed into the ticketing counter, not seeing Jacqueline anywhere and not having time to try to find her. He slapped his trainer card down, expecting to get his usual discount and be reimbursed by Jackie later, but instead two tickets reserved in his name accompanied his I.D. card's return across the counter. Finding a few square feet of empty space, Vincent released Theodore. He intended to hand him one of the tickets but a conductor intervened.  
  
“I'm sorry, sir, but safety regulations forbid large and/or dangerous pokemon from boarding our trains unless they are sealed within their balls at all times during our journey.” Theodore reluctantly agreed to be recalled.  
  
Aboard, Vincent soon discovered that the seats reserved for himself and a companion were in a private room, currently half-occupied by Jacqueline and Jean. “Jackie, you know you're spoiling me.”  
  
She huffed. “Not at all. This is just the whim of a spoiled girl who has plenty of cash to throw at the problem of being bored on a train ride. You didn't get in such a rush that you left your pokemon behind at the hotel did you?”  
  
Vincent seated himself across from his host and gestured to his five-sixths filled ball belt. “They're here, except Vera's being Vera somewhere. They said Tio had to stay in his ball while on the train.” He turned to face Jean with a look of combined disbelief and confusion. “Something about him being a dangerous pokemon.” Jean returned the look, although he did not narrow his eyes.  
  
Jackie giggled at Vincent's insinuation. “Oh, yeah. It's probably the fire thing. Even though they make great starters, the cyndaquil family is sometimes tough to teach to control their vents at all times. Packed into a train like this, one good surprise and someone's clothing is on fire. I think you can let your weavile out, though.” She poked inside a pocket in the wall that held pamphlets and found one that included a list of pokemon forbidden to ride. Vincent learned from it that Phil was an “elemental hazard,” like Theodore, and Hal broke both height and weight restrictions. Vera was eligible, had she chosen to make an appearance.  
  
Recognizing it somewhere between a shame and an insult to waste a paid seat, Vincent released his luxury ball's occupant. Fiona immediately took a defensive stance, as her field of view was filled with gallade once she materialized. The last time she saw one so near, she suffered a concussion. Deep relief came when Vincent plopped her into her seat and informed her that this train did not permit battling on board. Nonetheless, Fiona did not feel much interest in befriending the warrior sitting opposite herself. She spent much of the ride looking out through the window, having never seen a landscape speed by so quickly. Additionally, the only thing else to look at inside the rail-car was Vincent and Jackie, who did not seem interested in including her in their conversation. Jean sat motionlessly and emotionless. That his blank expression was exactly the last thing that Fiona saw before he knocked her unconscious made it even more unnerving.  
  
After a while, Vincent's curiosity overcame his resolve. “So, why do you have Jean with you? I thought Carl hated letting—”  
  
Jacqueline interrupted indignantly. “Ah! Caz is a bratty, self-absorbed, impatient jerk-face is why. I was over at Caz's suite last night splitting a pizza. I knew something was wrong when Jean ran out of the other room with his hands on his head and hid—”  
  
Jean became embarrassed and while he and Jackie did not share an empathetic bond, she was near and familiar enough for him to mentally beseech her to rephrase.  
  
“What happened was Caz checked the rankings, saw that you got a badge somehow when he didn't, and went on a tear. I've seen him lose his temper before, but this was the biggest outburst I'd seen since he was a child in body as well as in mind. He threw stuff, broke stuff. Give him credit for having guts, though, since he even punched Lucas in the jaw, blaming him most of all for their losing to you and Sensei. When he finally calmed down a bit, he started sending his team back home over the network. I asked if I could take Jean with me and Caz just signed him over to my account. Then, he got his wallet and stormed off, heading for the game rooms, probably, and for all I know he's been living there since. He won't answer his phone.” Jacqueline's expression shifted from somber concern to a cheesy smile, once she found a way to make light of the situation. “So, right now that dork is sitting at the slots, losing his ass and smelling like a bum,” she leaned forward, invading Vincent's personal space somewhat, “while I'm riding around like a princess with her handsome bodyguard.” She quickly broke eye contact to kiss Jean on his cheek, and a beat later, after Fiona's eyebrows had risen, suffixed a hasty, “Oh, and you, too, Vinny.”  
  
Vincent felt his breakfast sausage settle sideways and excused himself to find the privy.  
  
Alone with Jacqueline and Jean, Fiona felt like the center of attention and nervously tried to start a conversation. “So, uh. I guess you're pretty good at fighting.” She had not really decided if her “you're” addressed the gallade, the trainer, or both.  
  
Jackie picked up the line. “Jean has a respectable record, if you disregard a few incidents. You know how it is when you get too excited in the circle. And, I know you know because I checked your records. Quite a first day you had.”  
  
Fiona did not like being reminded of her debut. She looked at Jean and asked, “Do you like fighting?”  
  
Jean's blank forward stare suddenly shifted to Fiona's eyes. He wanted to answer honestly, but even if he tried to force his thoughts into her mind, Fiona's dark nature would prohibit such rudeness. He looked forward again and Fiona shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  
  
Jacqueline stepped in. “Don't mind his silence. Jean hasn't said a word to anyone in a long time. I'm pretty sure he wants me to tell you that he likes making Carl proud of him, and does everything he can do to achieve that.”  
  
Fiona hoped to express something they had in common, but having ignored most of the preceding conversation, she was unaware of recent events. “I want to make Vinny proud of me, but I haven't been doing too good. I hope I can get good at fighting and make my trainer proud like you did.”  
  
Jackie flinched as a flash of emotion shot through Jean. He quickly turned to look out through the window. He had never seen a landscape speed by so quickly, since Carl almost never allowed Jean to travel outside of his ball.  
  
Vincent returned to a chamber filled with three dark auras instead of the singular one he expected. He sat and activated his trainer's device, calling up information on his destination city. With Jean keeping the window occupied, Fiona watched Vincent first study a city map and later play a built-in pokemon-themed video game while Jacqueline leaned against Jean's left side and napped until the train arrived at their stop.  
  


* * *

  
Vera's motionless stance once again drew muttered complaints and stares from town locals, all of whom she ignored until a man with a ninetales approached.  
  
He again imitated Iwamoto's aide's humble inflection. “Excuse me, Madame Xatu. Is the one I seek another of your kind, or the one standing before me?”  
  
Vera chirped haughtily. “The one standing before you will serve you well-enough.”  
  
Mortimer rubbed his stubble. “Your master, I take it, with the weavile; is he nearby?”  
  
She turned to face the miles-distant train station's direction. “Near enough, but he will soon be headed home. His next gym will be his last for this season.”  
  
“That's good to hear,” he said while smiling deviously, “From what I saw last time, he's not exactly champ material. Maybe he ought to let you and them go.”  
  
Vera went fishing. “And where would I go?”  
  
Mac took the bait. “Well, I know a little place not too far from here, a short trip up the mountainside. Nice 'n quiet, peaceful like, got a pond, nobody comes and goes up there but a chubby guy and his dog.” Shade glanced away, slightly embarrassed.  
  
She stepped forward, wrapping the hiker with her right wing while raising her left as a barrier between them. “Because that place is not as peaceful-like as you wish that it were.” Vera knelt and slowly stroked Shade beneath his chin with an oddly-compassionate expression before taking flight, leaving Mac and his companion alone to watch her form recede and vanish beyond the treetops of Allylidene Forest.  
  


* * *

  
Disembarking the train, Vincent attempted to breach the food-related half of their agreement. “I guess I owe you dinner. I—”  
  
The princess cut him off yet again. “I know just the place! It opened up a couple weeks ago, and they got all the best sushi chefs around. We'll go there after our gym matches tomorrow night.”  
  
Vincent smirked. “So that's why you came out here. It had nothing to do with the League, you just wanted to check out a new fish joint.”  
  
Jackie slugged his right arm. “I wasn't lying. It's not easy for me to find a leader whose badge I don't have yet. So, when one shows up near a place I want to have dinner at, I gotta seize the opportunity.”  
  
Vincent did not want to look like a wuss, but his arm wanted to be rubbed. “Why not tonight, though?”  
  
Jacqueline's expression became downcast again. “I need to take care of Jean. He may look like a rock in the ring, but he's a sponge when it comes to Caz. He's bonded with Caz so when the jerk flipped out, Jean couldn't help but try to draw off his negativity. But, that only made Caz angrier because he wanted to be angry and they both kinda overloaded. Jean's feeling totally rejected right now and he needs someone close to connect with and lean on. That's why I took him with me when Caz said he was sending his whole team home. At home by himself, he'd fall apart and then Lucas would, too. This isn't something that you need to be worrying about, but I appreciate your listening.” She hugged his arm and rubbed the spot where she punched him. “Get some sleep. You gotta be ready for the games, tomorrow.”  
  


* * *

  
Visiting Tartaroyal Gym first-thing in the morning to ensure that he beat any rush and got in before others took all of the participant slots, Vincent discovered that the facility was sized proportionately to its city; Tartaroyal being the largest he had ever visited. Its arena featured auditorium seating in the style of the ancients and its center ring recessed into the ground as deeply as would a second basement level. High above were hung massive display screens to present elevated viewers with an option between direct viewing and a cinematic video feed of the contests.  
  
Finding a vacant table, Vincent started filling out move-set cards. Hal and Phil rarely asked for variety, and Vera seemed always to be prepared for whatever he might put on her card, so he filled theirs out first while feeling Theodore literally breathing down his neck. Coming down to Tio and Fio, he began with the latter's: surf, ice-punch, feint-attack, and, alas, fury-swipes. He told himself that that last technique was selected for want of a better option, but truly he wanted to be covered if she panicked and simply began clawing at any part of her opponent that she could reach. All reasonable methods of procrastination now exhausted, he wrote “Theodore” atop his fifth card. Hoping to avoid their usual argument, he immediately put an “S” in the first box.  
  
Theodore, still looking over Vincent's shoulder, rolled his eyes and grunted, complaining as he peeled himself away from his friend. “Sunny-day, again. You know, I miss the good old days: sweeping with eruptions, not wasting time casting spells.” He trailed off as he wandered off.  
  
Vincent finished Tio's card. “Yeah, the minor leagues were a blast, weren't they? Maybe we could go to the park and rough up some middle-schoolers' pets like the skinheads do when they get bored.”  
  
Across the lobby, Theodore overheard a couple of other trainers discussing a rumor: tonight's event would be an exhibition intended to promote a new pokemon-related invention. Theodore relayed this information to Vincent as he double-checked the cards. They huffed simultaneously. Normal matches were difficult enough for them, and exhibition events often turned the rules upside-down. Some critics argued that it leveled the playing field and provided a better evaluation of trainers' skills, but others felt it simply meant that you were better off being lucky than good. Discouraged but not dissuaded, Vincent walked toward the receptionist to submit his paperwork. Theodore groaned, stretched, and leaned his back against the counter partition, yawning and exposing his fangs carelessly and intentionally. “Ahhh, sunny-day. You know what I want to do.”  
  
Vincent placed his trainer I.D. atop the cards and slid them across the counter. “Yes, I know what you want to do, and if it were legitimate, I'd be all for it.”  
  
Kimberly took up a stamp to validate Vincent's forms, but stopped at Theodore's card to recite a memorized line of script. She was new to the job, but absorbed all of the training material readily. “Before I stamp this, would you please confirm for me that the information entered is what you wish to submit?” Vincent took Theodore's card back, glanced at it, and asked what was wrong. “Well,” she broke from prepared dialogue, “I saw your badges, in particular, that one,” gesturing with a gentle nod and slight motion of one finger, “and with the minor rule change approved this morning, I thought maybe you might have meant to write ‘poison-fang’ instead of ‘toxic’ as one of your typhlosion's move selections.”  
  
Vincent did not know what to think, so Theodore thought for him by putting a pencil in Vincent's hand.  
  
The fifth card re-submitted, Kimberly resumed verifying the paperwork. Another issue immediately appeared. “Have you dropped a card, Sir? I count only five.”  
  
With a touch of arrogant pride, Vincent replied, “I only use five pokemon.”  
  
The attendant smiled brightly, returning to her script. “For tonight's event, all participants must register six pokemon. I will set your papers aside for now. Please acquire a sixth and return before registration closes, or a stand-by participant, should any register, may compete in your stead.”  
  
After saying that, Kimberly continued at a whisper, “Don't worry too much about it. You don't need a well-trained pokemon. Anything will do, really.”  
  
Vincent exited Tartaroyal Gym and released Hal from his ball. “Hey, big guy, how would you like to spend a few hours on the town before our match-ups?”  
  
Transitioning from a stretch and a yawn, Hal struggled to contain his excitement, but it had been longer than he could remember since he alone had been asked by his trainer to share time that was not attached to a contest. “Wow, I'd love to spend—”  
  
Vincent shoved a few bank notes into Hal's hand while walking over his sentiment. “A few hundred shillings on a buffet line. That's what I can afford; don't eat it all in one place. Tio and I have to pick up a sixth because the gym's running a stupid special event, so we're going to shake some bushes. Have fun.”  
  
Hal waited patiently until Vincent and Theodore were well out of earshot before finishing his sentence. “—more time with you, Master.”  
  


* * *

  
Despite Tartaroyal's broad and sprawling design, Hal quickly found a local game corner. They looked and operated likewise no matter how far and wide you traveled. A row of cases displaying pokemon lined the front windows, their species available as prizes to people willing to blow away their afternoons flipping cards and blow away their money on heavily marked-up snacks and refreshments. His eyes met with an eevee's. He knew well its look of longing and hopefulness, and he knew that he would react to it just as had every human to which he once gave that look: glancing downward and away before leaving with a hurried step. Every human except for Vincent; not his current master, though, but a few-years-younger Vincent.  
  
He continued along the sidewalk, not really looking where he was going. Pedestrians naturally stayed out of his way and his antennae were sensitive enough to detect when the row of buildings to his left were interrupted to admit a street, alerting Hal to check for traffic and signal before crossing. Until a familiar tune captured his attention, he was unsure what he was even thinking about. The music came from a small shop wedged between a kosher deli and a store that advertised novelties intended exclusively for adult humans. A disheveled man exited the strange shop holding a cardboard box. The air that followed him was thick with patchouli oil. Hal caught the door and looked inside. The aisles were cramped but wide enough for his frame to pass through as long as he was mindful of his tail. He asked the proprietor if he could enter and was greeted warmly.  
  
“Yeah, man, come on in. If you're polite enough to ask, I ain't worried.”  
  
A bell above the door chimed as Hal entered. When the door shut behind Hal, the store's owner slid his yellow sunglasses down his nose.  
  
“Hey, man, where's your trainer?”  
  
The store was even smaller than it looked from without. Hal anticipated an order to leave. He sought a place to turn about without his tail sweeping anything over. “He let me go by myself, today.”  
  
Howie smiled a little. “Sounds like you got a pretty cool dude, Dude.”  
  
“I guess so,” Hal said flatly, and assuming the proprietor's continued consent he browsed the merchandise. The wares were widely varied, but most familiar was a table covered with milk crates, each filled with vinyl audio-discs. In the garage at home was a similar cache. Hal flipped through them, unable to pass over ten without seeing a band name that was familiar. Many of these albums featured artists that Zap sought but could not find, due to scarcity. “Zap would've loved this place,” Hal admitted to himself aloud.  
  
Howie overheard and asked who that was while picking up the arts and entertainment section of a newspaper.  
  
“An old teammate. He loved music, especially on these things. If he were still with us, he could have been here.”  
  
The paper folded downward by half. “Did your trainer trade him off or something? That's not cool, man.”  
  
“No, but he did something that made Zap upset, and when Zap told him off, he let him decide to stay or go. Zap chose to go.”  
  
Howie leaned forward over his counter, setting the paper aside. “Bummer. I take back what I said about your dude. When someone blows their top, you're supposed to be cool and help 'em through it, not tell 'em you couldn't care less if they take a hike.”  
  
Hal stared at an album cover for a few long moments. It matched the description of one Zap once said he dreamed of finding.  
  
Howie noticed that Hal seemed to be speaking, although he could not hear any words. “You know, if you want one of those, you can just have it if you promise to get it to your friend someday.”  
  
Hal twisted to look back, in two motions separated by his tail bumping into something nearby that he could not see. “No. Thank you. I don't think I'll ever see him again and even if I did, I would be seeing that part of him;” Hal pushed the album he held into a small gap between two other albums and returned to face Howard while heading for the exit, “the part of him that left us all just because things weren't going the way he hoped. Do you know of a place nearby that will serve food to a pokemon without a trainer?”  
  


* * *

  
A rattata seemed to chatter a giggle as it used its tail to whip a pokeball aside before running away.  
  
Theodore applauded violently. “Exemplary work, Boss! You threw that one close enough to have a tiny chance of capturing before the rodent knocked it out of the park. Forget college, we're going to sign you up as a big leaguer.”  
  
Vincent pantomimed bashing Theodore in his belly with a baseball bat before picking up his now-dud pokeball. “Marketing genius, making these things only work once and sticking a deposit on them so you'll bring back the misses to be ‘recycled’ when all they do is replace the chip and button, buff out a couple scratches, and sell it again like-new. Well, I do have the premiere ball left. I guess if it doesn't stick, we'll just watch Jackie play and go home. I miss my own bed.”  
  


* * *

  
Hal withdrew the second of his seven jumbo hot dogs from their sack. Normally, that would mean that he started his meal only a few seconds ago, but he seated himself on the park bench beneath him almost ten minutes prior. He felt like there was something stuck in his throat, blocking the path between his mouth and his belly. It was a distraction so great that Hal's antennae failed to detect a gallade that walked by, stopped, and seated itself upon the bench's other end. Jean remained unnoticed until he presented hot dog number-three to the dragonite.  
  
Hal unwrapped it slowly. “If your master is looking for a fight, Vincent isn't here for—with—me.”  
  
Jean needed a moment to remember how to make words with his mouth. “I have been,” he paused a moment equally because of difficulty remembering the word and difficulty admitting his shame, “—reassigned.”  
  
Hal offered his guest the fourth hot dog, but Jean declined. He set it aside and began eating Number Five as Jean continued, his words coming slowly and with great concentration. “If Vincent released you, what would you do?”  
  
The dragonite swallowed hard. “For the first day, this. Find a cheap meal and eat it as slowly as possible.”  
  
Jean relented and accepted Hot Dog Number Four, asking, “And after that?” before taking his first bite.  
  
Hal gestured to Jean with the last inch of his fifth dog's beef and bun, “I will wish that I could eat more slowly.”  
  


* * *

  
Vincent's premiere ball burst open and a re-materialized plusle darted away. Theodore gave Vincent a warm hug instead of his typical smart-alack jibe. “I miss our bed, too. Let's go home. You've got to start paring down your stuff for your move to the dorms.”  
  
The route back to Tartaroyal forced them to walk into the glare of a setting sun, which made seeing one's imagination more comfortable than seeing the road ahead.  
  
“Zap was the only one, wasn't he, Tio?” Vincent mused.  
  
Theodore hummed in confusion.  
  
“Zap was the only pokemon I ever caught. You came to me, Vera came to me, Hal and Phil I bought, Fiona chose to stay, at least for now. I don't really train pokemon at all. I just shepherd the ones that want to crash at my pad.”  
  
The typhlosion halted his friend's advance by resting a heavy paw on the young man's left shoulder, forcing him to lean back and twist slightly as his legs took a half-second to notice Theodore's restraint. “Vincent—”  
  
Hearing that word cross Theodore's lips triggered a sense of shock, as he never spoke it except to refer to other persons who happened to share the name.  
  
“—what you just said insulted every one of us.”  
  
Turning about, Vincent for the first time saw a typhlosion on the verge of tears. The gentle twitching of lower eyelids and broken, wavering tones of speech created a Tio that Vincent never before met and never would forget.  
  
Theodore's other paw found Vincent's other shoulder and together they re-aligned his body. “Don't you see all you've done for us? You got Hal and Phil out of those cages. You gave that weavile far more than she deserved. But above all: you… saved… my… life. If you hadn't taken me in when you found me, given me a home, taken care of me as whatever I had got worse and worse; when it hit me hard I would have crawled back behind that garbage can and died in blind agony.” Theodore wrapped his arms around the stunned trainer and pulled him into a cold hug with almost crushing strength. “Every day of my life is a tribute to you, my hero. To say that I just crash at your pad… it hurts me all the way, Boss. It means that I am nothing to you and I don't think I can survive that.”  
  
Vincent began to have difficulty standing as the weight he struggled to support seemed to be collapsing slowly. “Theodore, I never meant that. I can't imagine for a second what my life would be or have been like without you, and I don't want to.” The trainer's arms slid upward and crossed his typhlosion's flame vents. “I'm sorry, Tio. Please, believe me; I will never intentionally do or say anything to hurt you or our friends.”  
  
After a moment, their stances recovered and their embrace broke. Theodore's expression became somewhat more typical as he turned his view to a city standing before the setting sun. “I know. Deep down, I know. But, I meant nothing to my trainer once before, and I don't think that it will ever stop haunting me.”  
  


* * *

  
The words, “I wish I could eat more slowly,” fell into an empty sack. Hal slowly stood from his bench and discarded the bag. “I guess I'm headed back to the gym. Vincent must have caught a sixth so we can fight tonight. He's probably upset that I let it get so late before coming back. I think I've disappointed him too much.”  
  
Hal began walking away, depriving Jean of necessary time to find all the right words and put them into correct arrangement. “Is his wanting, go away, you?”  
  
Turning around partially, Hal thought about it for a couple of seconds. “I don't know. I want to say that I hope not, but I'm not sure what I hope.”  
  
Jean abruptly sprang to his feet as the reptile resumed his departure and leapt, landing straddling Hal's bulky orange tail with a unique blue tip. Before Hal could react, Jean captured his head between two green palms plus his own forehead. He injected a vision without respect for permission or tact. The onset of a crippling sensation coursing through his mind and his soul caused Hal to cringe. Jean spoke with anger and frustration in his voice, punctuating each of his words with a pulse of emotion. “Hope that he never wants you away. This is… the shadow of how it feels; how I feel.” The sensation intensified steadily until Jean released his grip with a strained grunt, dismounted Hal, and marched away.  
  
As Hal passed by the hot dog vendor, who was briefly concerned that two powerful pokemon were about to battle near her cart, he could not resist talking to himself. “And, he says that's a shadow? How could Carl put him through that?”  
  
Hal interrupted his walk back to Tartaroyal Gym with a visit to a pharmaceutical market. He needed a dose of maximum-strength headache medication.  
  


* * *

 


	8. Often Lost In Thought

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 8: Often Lost In Thought.  
  


* * *

  
Vincent cast Vera's name into the skies and received no reply. He shrugged and turned to face his team. “Maybe she knows we don't have six and is waiting at the motel with take-out again.”  
  
Phil whistled and squirted Vincent in his face.  
  
“Yes, you're right. She would've left a note or something to let us know that she was there before I speculated that. But, perhaps she wanted me to make a fool of myself first, and then—”  
  
A downward gust of wind heralded the green bird's arrival. She landed behind Vincent and wrapped him tightly with her wings. “And then, I would save you from rambling like a fool by showing up just in time.” Vera proceeded to usher her team inside Tartaroyal Gym.  
  
Kimberly spotted Vincent as he entered and asked if he completed his team. Admitting that he had not, she warned that he had twelve minutes to complete his registration if he intended to participate. With four minutes remaining, Jacqueline arrived, entering tightly behind an incoming spectator, and approached Vincent, speaking with a disappointed tone. “Hey, Vincent. I'm just here to cheer you on. Because my dad works with the company, they won't let me play tonight. So lame; he didn't tell me anything about the event. I didn't even go through his e-mail to see what all the fuss is about.”  
  
Vincent glanced at a wall clock. “That's what you get for being a good girl, I guess. Well, I won't be playing either, unless I have a sixth pokemon to register. And, since Vera seems to expect me to have a sixth within the next three minutes—”  
  
Jackie cut his statement off not-unexpectedly and handed Vincent a ball from the team she had assembled before discovering her conflict-of-interest disqualification. “Here, take this guy. He needs a little action.” Vincent took the ball and rushed to the registration desk where Kimberly waited for him.  
  
“You are cutting it a little closer than I hoped, Sir,” she whispered as she took the pokeball and placed it in a dock.  
  
Vincent nodded, agreeing with her sentiment, “Same here. Look, I don't even know what's in this so if you could just register it with whatever moves it used last time it saw play, that will be fine.”  
  
She navigated her terminal's interface deftly, processing the lent pokemon's temporary reassignment without asking any questions. “That's all you have time for. Good luck, tonight.” A small printer spat out a filled and pre-certified card which she added to Vincent's set-aside paperwork. A manager approached to inquire if a stand-by would be called upon, but accepted Vincent's application instead.  
  


* * *

  
Guided to a ramp that led downward to the participants' area near the rings, Vincent took a seat amongst his competition, staged in a row, and waited about five minutes for opening announcements.  
  
Calvin Grovewell, a decorated trainer who chose his true passion—the culinary arts—over accepting an invitation to become a member of Ocimene's Elite Four, approached the microphone. After a regular welcoming of the audience and competitors, he addressed the night's irregularity. “Due to the special nature of tonight's event, we require that all registered pokemon be recalled at this time and turned over to a constable. Select from them three that you wish to command during your first round of play. The other three you will command during your second round if you are not eliminated from play. Each trainer will be scored according to the results of three face-offs during his or her round, and the highest-ranked trainer at the end of those two rounds will battle to earn a badge from tonight's gym leader.” Soon a parade of attendants carrying racks of pokeballs retired to the gym's rear chambers. Therein, each pokemon was released, given a short explanation that they would wear an experimental piece of electronic equipment, fitted with such a device, and recalled again.  
  
During this time, Mr. Grovewell delivered a more-comprehensive explanation to the waiting trainers. “Tonight's battles will be fought with your pokemon under the influence of a new training device that recently passed Devon R&D testing. It alters the perception of your pokemon such that they cannot determine the species of pokemon that they are fighting. Be it a gyarados or a buneary, your pokemon will not know the identity of their enemy without deducing it from successful and unsuccessful attacks, delivered or received. The system also allows us to present a video feed of the battle as your pokemon see it, so competitors will be equally challenged while communicating via microphone with their fighters. Tonight's contest is to determine which trainer best trains pokemon to adapt to an unknown threat. Battles will commence as soon as all combatants are properly equipped.”  
  
Shortly thereafter, the arena lighting came on, revealing not the normal battlefield, but a grand array of large screens, angled to give a view to everyone inside the auditorium. Mr. Grovewell summoned the first competitor to a pedestal and microphone stationed near the ring's edge. Asked to choose his lead pokemon, he selected his jolteon. Upon the screens before him, he watched as two men—dressed in black from head to toe, standing opposite each other in an empty, poorly-lit circle—select pokeballs wearing black half-shells to mask their variety. One released the trainer's jolteon, named A.C., into the ring. The video feed switched to the pokemon's point of view, and added graphics indicating A.C.'s vital statistics and related information. A.C. intently watched the other kuroko press another ball's button, releasing something no one in the audience had ever before seen. It seemed to be a living shadow, vaguely humanoid in stance, not unlike a hitmonlee, but bulkier and with a single, glowing, eye-like form where its neck and head belonged.  
  
Both A.C. and the shadow circled each other reluctantly, as though the creature masked by that apparition saw the same in A.C.'s stead. Although both seemed unwilling to discover its opponent's strengths first-hand, A.C. became impatient and attacked with a charge-beam. The shadow was unaffected, and concluded that it faced a dedicated electric type. It leapt into the air and slammed into the ground beside its foe using the earthquake technique. A.C. lost his footing and his charge. A weak but sufficient low-kick from the shadow punted him out of the ring. The trainer's entry on the scoreboard lost one point.  
  
The next five pokemon to compete met similar fates, most facing foes that resisted the attacks they received and knew highly-effective attacks with which to respond. Only one of those five managed to defeat its opponent and in a breathtakingly-close match. Mystery and surprise kept the audience's attention, despite the one-sided nature of the sound drubbings both competitors seen so far had received. Some speculated that the gym leader provided their opposition.  
  
Revealed to be the night's third competitor, Vincent approached the pedestal, selected his three, and chose Theodore to fight the first battle.  
  
The video feed tilted at an angle and bobbed around a little as Theodore tried to figure out what he was looking at. He cast sunny-day as insurance, while the shadow generated a light-screen. That suggesting he go physical, he dropped low and prepared to charge in and close their distance but a piercing psychic attack gripped his muscles and as much as he would have liked to use poison-fang legitimately for the first time, he tripped over his own body after stumbling across half of the gap. Confusion having set in with a second psychic assault, combined with a faint scent too faint to identify but not too faint to reflexively respond to, he convinced himself to tap out.  
  
Vincent acknowledged Theodore's surrender and selected Hal to fight next.  
  
The shadowy figure did not intimidate Hal in the slightest. He was too distracted by a cramped gut to pay it much mind. His motions were slowed a little by the discomfort. Not much, but enough to let his speedy foe evade easily. His antennae straightened out, detecting something in the air. Something familiar, dreadful, and disheartening: the shadow just readied an Ice-type attack. Knowing his next attack would either win it or be followed by almost sure incapacitation, he feigned a direct charge to cause the shadow to evade, and spun around, redirecting his momentum into a brick-breaking karate chop targeted at where he knew the shadow must flee to.  
  
The shadow was faster than Hal, still, but the illusion became somewhat broken. While his clawed hand smashed a dent into the synthetic mat they fought upon and did so completely behind the shadow, the creature obscured seemed to be sitting beside his arm, unable to rise as though caught by its tail. Hal did not consider their situation at length, however, as the shadow leaned a little and swung its Ice-encrusted fist against his snout.  
  
His opponent was credited with a one-hit knockout, and Vincent's score-sheet showed minus-two and minus-four.  
  
Vincent figured something Grass-type would come next. His opponent seemed to know about Hal's acute Ice-type weakness, and even Theodore's atypical Psychic-type vulnerability; so Phil would probably be pitted against a lawnmower forme rotom, negating his hidden-power specialization.  
  
Phil, be he ignorant of his team's status or unconcerned, swaggered up to his starting mark conveying his usual attitude. Often his confident-yet-cute approach brought a bit of intimidation with it, but this shadow did not respond at all to the vaporeon's bravado. Once battle commenced, the shadow mostly stood still. It used double-team to evade early attacks and cast bulk-up whenever Phil missed. Annoyed by his ineffective actions, Phil moved in closer. Too close. Whistling a trill while summoning a volume of water around his body, intending to surf the shadow off of its feet and out of the ring if that was what it would take, Phil pounced within a meter of the shadow's position. It deftly knelt, seized the cyan creature by his throat with his right hand, and gripped Phil's head with his left.  
  
Tartaroyal Gym's under-hall ring's microphones failed to pick up the scrambled crackling of Phil's vertebrae being twisted apart, and audience members watching the monitors above made no sound to compete with the feed's channel, whence came a dull, soggy flop against the mat, followed immediately by a faint echo or two. Everyone watching the screens sat motionless except for Jacqueline, who immediately bolted for the restrooms, realizing that she was going to vomit.  
  
The rotated first-person camera view never blinked as a man dressed like a ninja timidly approached, reached toward the body that the camera was attached to, shook it gently, and faintly spoke to someone else near the circle. “He's deader than shit. What got into that g—”  
  
The video feed cut to a blank blue screen reading “no signal” and Mr. Grovewell returned to the pedestal. “If I may have your attention everyone, tonight's event is now canceled. Participating trainers, all your pokemon will be returned to you shortly.”  
  
As Calvin stepped down he heard Vincent ask him, “All?”  
  
The most he could offer was a compassionate glance before turning away.  
  


* * *

  
Kimberly the Friendly Attendant teared up as she delivered six pokeballs to Vincent, one now deactivated with a black ribbon tied around it and a filler cap where its button once protruded. Unable to recite any of her scripted courtesy comments, she merely gasped a faint, “I'm so sorry,” and turned away. As Vincent exited the facility, each of the trainers he passed expressed similar sentiments.  
  
He almost dropped the tray when a skinhead biker with an eye-patch, clearly touched by the incident and ready to pound anyone who might dare to comment upon that fact, grabbed Vincent in a one-armed hug around his neck and poked him in his chest repeatedly to emphasize his words. “He was a good dog, Dog. You stay strong and do him proud.” The biker bid him adieu with a relatively gentle headbutt before mounting his chopper and riding away.  
  
In something of a daze, Vincent wandered near some benches in a small garden accenting the gym's front entrance and released his team one ball at a time. First, Theodore, then Hal, Vera, and finally Fiona, who felt like the center of attention as the three previous stared at her. After that they looked around themselves, then at Vincent, then around again, none seeing the blue spigot that should stand amongst them.  
  
Jacqueline found herself trapped within the gym, twisting a length of her long dark hair around her finger nervously while reading her father's e-mail, as traffic flow kept the automatic doors in a chaotic state of flux.  
  
No longer under the influence of experimental equipment, Vera's powers returned to her and within seconds, she began muttering a prayer in an ancient tongue while withdrawing a bizarre pipe from her purse and lighting its bowl with a tiny summoned flame.  
  
Vincent addressed his team with an unsteady voice that faded gradually with each spoken word. “You're all looking for Phil. Phil is dead. Whatever monster they put him up against tonight, it killed him; practically twisted his head off.”  
  
Theodore stood nonplussed, looking at his trainer who was looking at him with a look on his face that Tio had seen once before. Back then, that visage was blurred through the matted eyes of a diseased cyndaquil.  
  
Hal dealt with meeting the first thing that he truly could not swallow. “No. No; they don't put homicidal maniacs in the ring in gym battles! That weird ghost thing had a huge advantage but he wasn't out to kill me.”  
  
Jacqueline finally got the doors to herself and darted through.  
  
Theodore concurred with Hal. “Same here. If anyone in that ring was going to become lethal, it would've been me.”  
  
Jackie approached with a mixed demeanor, half sorrow and half rage, and wholly un-directed.  
  
Fiona chose to contribute. Death visited many in her pack during hunts; the survivors' method of grieving lay in explaining why they survived. She clenched her claws and straightened her arms above her head for height, “Mine wasn't too bad,” and lowered them to extend a fore-paw flat and quickly waggle it, “He was kinda slow. I ran around a lot and when he grabbed my tail,” she indicated with a pantomimed re-enactment that nonetheless drew some ice crystals, “I socked him like we did to garchomps back on the mountain! No problem.” She crossed her arms with her claws extended a little to enhance her pose while smiling proudly.  
  
Vincent began assembling the pieces. “Wait, Fiona. I didn't use you in the first round. So, you wouldn't have fought unless the ones we didn't pick were mixed up and used against the other trainers, and even then, the only time it looked like a tail got caught was when Hal fought. That means—”  
  
Jacqueline interjected. “You were fighting one half of your team against the other half, and the experimental device was designed to prevent anyone, even the psychics, from knowing who and what they were up against.”  
  
Theodore stared at the tray, now set upon a covered rubbish bin, and the two plain pokeballs it held, one with and one without a black ribbon. “Vera knows how to light-screen and I've been hit like that by her psychic attacks before, so if I had Vera and Hal had Fiona, then Phil had—?”  
  
Jacqueline squinted her eyes and balled her fists as she spat out her admission of guilt. “Fucking Jean. I swear, Vinny, I had no idea they would be having us fight each other like this! I knew he would fight after the bell sometimes but I never thought he would ever kill anyone. I mean, he only used to get carried away when Caz did, too. Except then, normally, I mean, any time he's been around me he wouldn't hurt a fly, I mean, I just can't… no.” She threw herself downward onto the nearest bench and cradled her head in her palms, propped up with her elbows on her knees.  
  
Vera completed her prayer, snuffed her pipe, and walked from the group, saving Vincent the trouble of asking her for a moment aside.  
  
“Vera, I'm not blaming you and I know you have your opinions on what can and can't be discussed when it comes to seeing and affecting the future, but dammit, how did you miss this?”  
  
Vera wrapped her right wing around Vincent's head and lent him a vision. “I knew that we would fight each other tonight, I knew that this team would not face the leader, and I knew that Phil and Jean would share the ring. What I see in the future are opportunities for decisions and the consequences thereof. I did not see Phil's death because Jean would never choose to kill Phil, but that assumes Jean knew that he was battling against Phil.” She stood before Vincent with her right eye closed and both wings touching his cheeks, a preparation to show him what she was about to tell him. “The devices they made us wear made us see only a monster in the arena, a being that could not be rationalized as any particular thing except an indistinct abomination. I was mortally terrified by what the device made me see and not-feel, but I resisted my instincts and restrained myself because my visions held that if I chose to fight tonight, Theodore would be my challenger, strange as that pairing seemed at the time. Jean was, apparently, unprepared.”  
  
Vincent asked if Jean posed any further danger.  
  
Vera paused in reflection for a moment before replying. “No. As Jacqueline said, Jean wouldn't hurt a fly.” She started walking toward the group again, and Vincent followed closely. “That is, in absence of an outside force compelling him otherwise, such as Carl's emotional state has in the past.”  
  
Vincent walked on when she stopped, to the bench where Theodore and Fiona tried to console Jacqueline. Hal had taken over the duty of staring at the tray and the two balls that it cradled.  
  
Clearing his throat unnecessarily, Vincent captured his friends' attention. “As most of us here remember, dining out after gym matches was Phil's idea, to ensure that we all came together, even if some of us did not compete that night, or let something trivial come between some of us. Since this is my last league summer—and his—I think it is only fitting that we conclude this tradition tonight in his honor. Jackie said she knows a good place for sushi, so let's follow her lead.”  
  


* * *

  
The restaurant advertised a pokemon-free dining experience, and that surely applied to the main dining rooms, but upon seeing Jacqueline's I.D. and a particular badge of Vincent's together, an unadvertised room, always “reserved,” opened to them and their friends. Vincent placed a ball with a black ribbon at one end of the table before releasing the other diners. Jackie almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Vincent's thumb nearing the trigger on Jean's ball and pulled his digit away from it.  
  
“No! Leave him in there to rot forever. No, have them run that ball through the trash compactor out back. That's what he deserves.”  
  
Vincent pulled out a chair for her after socketing Jean's ball on his own belt. “I'll leave him inside for now, but I know you don't really feel that way.”  
  
Jackie defiantly seated herself opposite the chair he selected. “Do you, now? I don't think you have the slightest clue how I really feel.”  
  
Vincent sat in the chair that he drew. His pokemon then took seats for themselves: Theodore sat at the end opposite of Phil's ball, placing himself between Vincent and Jacqueline. Vera and Hal settled in between Vincent and Phil's positions, and Fiona sat opposite Hal, leaving one empty seat for Jean at Jackie's immediate right.  
  
Shortly thereafter, a waiter arrived and took orders. Their food did not disappoint, with even the appetizers no less exquisitely prepared than advertised. However, the right mood to enjoy such flavors fully escaped them all.  
  
The almost unnatural silence broke when Theodore found some words worth uttering. “It would be inappropriate to get into what we were talking about earlier today, but I think it's safe to say that Phil felt that sort of way about you, too, Boss. I'm sure Hal has told you what it was like at the game house, and it didn't matter that anyone could have won him; you were the one that did, and you gave Phil a home, and you treated him right. You even respected his wish to stay a mute. It's kinda funny, since that prevented him from telling you how much that meant to him, himself.”  
  


* * *

  
Mister Grovewell's entrance caused the maitre d' to break a sweat. “Good evening, Sir. I'm very sorry, but I cannot offer you your private table tonight; I already lent it to another party.”  
  
Calvin laughed. “That's okay. Anything near the kitchen is fine; I might want to pop in and make sure there are one-too-many cooks in there. If you don't mind, will you tell me who took the good table?”  
  
The maitre d' honored that request immediately. “Yes, Sir: League third-tier Jacqueline Valley, I.D. № EX–21160, and League fifth-tier Vincent—”  
  
Having heard enough, Calvin hushed the greeter with a raised palm. “The room is rightfully theirs. Let the chef-de-cuisine know I'd like a word when he has a minute to spare.”  
  


* * *

  
Vincent buttered his bread and took a bite. “I think we need a funny story before the main course shows up. Hal won't mind if I tell his story to the girls, right?”  
  
Hal nodded affirmatively without realizing that he did so. His mind was somewhere else and the unintentionally condescending tone of Vincent's voice only pushed him farther away.  
  
“Okay, Fiona; you were waiting for this. I was spending all my afternoons in Indan Fall's game room trying to get enough points to trade for the dratini in the window with the wag-gl-ly tail. I knew I had to have him from the moment I saw him. Carl was already a thorn in my side and he was much better at the games so he was hovering around every day keeping track, waiting for me to win enough tickets so he could step into line ahead of me and buy up every dratini they had so I couldn't get one. Sure enough, I finally made it, and when I headed up to the counter, he came out of nowhere, got there in front of me, and took two of them. They came out of the back, so I figured it was okay; the one I wanted was still in the display case up front. Carl left with a smirk, I stepped up, and they told me I couldn't have that,” Vincent pointed at Hal, “dratini, because it's their display dratini. ‘People are allowed to touch him; got germs and stuff,’ they tell me, and that they don't have any more in the back. I argued; they went on about policy. I was about ready to throw my handful of tickets at them, jump the counter, grab my dratini, and run for it, when this old guy showed up. He asked what was wrong and I told him how they wouldn't give me my dratini. Suddenly, the guys at the counter were all too happy to hand him over. Later, I found out that the old guy was a city commissioner overseeing all the bars and entertainment joints in Indan Falls; corrupt as hell, but if you complain to him, he says jump and they ask how high.”  
  
Vincent took a drink from his glass and surveyed his audience. Jacqueline and Hal both seemed to be inert but Fiona's fullest attention was his. “So, I bring Hal home and I want to make a big welcome for him. Dratini usually live in water, at least until fully evolved, so I ran a warm bath. I released him over the tub and expected to see my chubby dragon happy to have a home. The glow faded, he fell into the water, and went freaking ape-shit. In four seconds, I'm soaked. Eight seconds, he's hopped out of the tub and into the toilet bowl. Twelve seconds, he's sprung from the bowl, across the counter, and breaks the mirror trying to get through it to the other side. That stunned him so I tried to get ahold of him and off goes the top layer of skin. Now he's leaving a trail of slime, heading down the hall, and I hear bleating. Hal squirmed into Zap—he was a flaaffy at the time—and Zap discharged static on reflex. I get down the hallway and see that Hal's angry at Zap. Zap thinks Hal's a Water-type and keeps trying to shock him and it isn't doing much. Hal notices me and darts beneath my bed. For the next three days, I'm trying to coax him out of there any way I can think of without resorting to squeezing under there myself or poking him with a broomstick because then he might get really scared and attack us. I figured out quick that food got his attention, but every time I tried to actually catch him, he'd just shed and slip away.”  
  
“I didn't get him until finally we teamed up. I grabbed his first layer, Zap and Tio pounced on him to take the second, and then I reached over them and grabbed Hal again and that ran him out of layers. I held him like I did when they let me hold him at the game house and said, ‘Calm down, I promise I will give you a good home,’ and I think that's the first time that he realized who I was because after that, he was coiled around some part of me almost all of the time until he evolved. The carpet beneath my bed at home is still blue and crusty from all that dragon slime, since my parents made me pay into replacing the carpet and I couldn't afford much more than the hallway.”  
  
The dinner's main course arrived during the trailing end of Vincent's story and was enjoyed more than the appetizers were. Hal finished his food first with Fiona closely behind.  
  
Vincent recalled an omission underlined earlier that evening and looked toward Hal. “Huh. A little bit ago, Tio said that he thought you had told me about your stay at the game house before I got you out of there, but you never have. Would you mind sharing that with us, since in a way it's Phil's story too?”  
  
Hal responded to Vincent's request without looking from his bare plate. “I will tell you what happened before your part of the story began. The reason I was scared of the water is because I'd never been in it or even seen water other than a little dispenser bottle in my cage. When they opened up the arcade, they jammed me into the display case until closing time, and then they stuck me back in my cage. I was lucky because I was a large male, so I looked good on display even if I didn't really fit inside the box. The other dratini were just left in their cages all the time. Usually, they would get sick after a while and… go away. I was fed well enough to maintain my weight because I needed to look good. The others weren't. Ours is a growing-or-dying species, and they certainly weren't given enough food to grow, since I was just holding a steady weight.” Mentally, Hal quit talking to Vincent and instead spoke to Fiona and Jacqueline, although he did not provide any gesture to indicate this shift. “One day they were letting people handle the display pokemon to drive up business, and that's when I met Vincent, and when he promised to give me a good home. I was handled by so many kids and teens it was like a blur, but I remembered his voice exactly. After that, when all the other people passing by would look in the window and walk away, he would always stop and I'd see something different in his eyes. I knew I could trust him, and I knew he could never have me because I was a living advertisement.”  
  
Hal leaned forward, looked away from his plate, and addressed his master directly. “I felt so bad and so happy when I saw you running up to the counter. I knew one of those dying dratini would have a chance since I knew you wouldn't let down the one you got, but I also knew it couldn't be me. But, a little later, the lid lifted up and I was in a ball. You had to have gotten enough tickets to get all three of us, and until I found myself falling into a tub of warm water, I was really excited.” He breathed deeply and paused an interval to reference what Vincent already told. “When you finally calmed me down and I realized that you only got me, I still knew that the other two found homes that day, and I just hoped that they were as good as the one you promised me, especially after I learned enough to realize I trashed your bathroom and half of your bedroom and you never punished me for it.”  
  
Fiona glanced at Hal with a renewed attention, and jumped in her seat a split-second later when Jacqueline cursed at her plate and threw her silverware against it. “God, I hate that asshole.”  
  
Everyone looked at her, including a waiter who returned to see if there would be any second servings or dessert orders.  
  
“I'm sorry, Hal,” she continued, “but they didn't. I remember when he came home that day because the next day, Vinny wouldn't stop telling me about how he got the best dratini in the world and just needed to get it to come out from under his bed. Caz came in with two pokeballs; I asked him what he got, and he said, ‘Just some extra junk balls,’ and threw them into a shoe-box in his closet to be forgotten. I always thought they were duds or unused balls, but now I know: those dratini have been trapped in stasis for years.”  
  
Hal's eyelids and antennae drooped and he pushed his plate away with a deep exhalation, letting his paws lie flat on the tablecloth thus revealed. “I think I hate that asshole, too.”  
  
Their waiter capitalized on the pause. “Chotto sumimasen; our manager has heard news of the terrible incident tonight and we wish to extend our sincerest condolences. Your dinner is our treat, in honor of the guest that could not share it with you.”  
  
Vincent thanked the waiter, who exited briskly. Then, he planted his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm. “I would have rather kept the vaporeon and paid the tab,” he morbidly mused before flicking his glass. Its chime resonated clearly for many seconds.  
  


* * *

  
Standing before the restaurant, Jacqueline and Vincent knew that their respective accommodations lay in different directions. She feigned a departing wave and walked three steps away before turning back. She addressed him. “Vinny, do you really want to keep him after what he did?”  
  
Vincent glanced near her briefly as he turned to face the stars above them. “If I give him back to you, you'll leave him in there forever, like those dratini Carl bought. I don't want to see you becoming like him. I'm going to get better assurances from Vera before I let him out, but Jean must face what he did someday. I'll see you at the train station.”  
  
She paused again after three steps more, but had no further excuses to halt him.  
  
Upon returning to his motel room, Vincent released Hal and Hal only. The dragonite looked around quickly. He was alone with his trainer; even Tio remained balled. He rocked back on the balls of his feet when Vincent approached.  
  
“Hal, you do know that I meant it, when I told Jackie that I had the best dratini in the world.”  
  
Hal sat heavily on the bed. “But, a dragonite is not a dratini.”  
  
Vincent's face twitched with acknowledgment as he sat alongside his bulky reptile. “Nope, and that had me worried. I was afraid when you evolved you would still be timid and clingy. But, you outgrew that and learned to stand on your own feet once you sprouted a pair of 'em. Tio mentioned at dinner than him and I had a talk today; it was about my role in your lives. I know Tio will never leave me even if I promised to soak him to the bone with a garden hose every day for the rest of his life. Zap made his decision. Vera's Vera. Phil—Phil's story is over. I understand what Tio was saying, but I have to ask, because I know you don't need me anymore and I have probably stepped foot in a gym for the last time: do you still want me to be your owner? I'm sure I can find a better trainer for you.”  
  
Hal looked Vincent in his eyes, speaking a word that made no sound. Vincent reached up and scratched his dragon on the side of his head near a spot that was, years ago, in the shadow of a gossamer fin.  
  
Hal's expression became serious as he removed Vincent's hand and clasped it between both of his own. “You promised me that you would give me a good home, not some stranger. I'm holding you to that.” His grip served to emphasize his use of the word, “holding.”  
  
“I'm not sure I can, Hal. I've—”  
  
Hal's muscles tensed. “You did before: before you changed what we were doing together, before you decided we needed a vaporeon. You used to worry about each of us, but something changed and you started worrying about your team. You got me because you wanted to save my life from that cramped cage. You got Phil because you wanted a fighter with a lot of stamina and who could wash away Rock-types. He was a combat statistic to you.”  
  
Vincent tensed, too. “Yes, Hal. I wanted someone who could protect Tio and Vera. What, is there something wrong with that? Everyone was exploiting our Rock vulnerability and I didn't like seeing you three getting hurt.”  
  
“I was still being hurt, Master,” Hal spat. “When you quit talking about me as the best dratini in the world and started talking about me as a Rock-and-Ice weakness, I got hurt. And, what about Zap? You said you didn't like seeing him get hurt, but you knew he wanted to fight. I think you didn't like seeing him as a free knock-out for the other guy, and you didn't care enough to think up a strategy that he could make work. As soon as you found out that Phil had some electricity in him, you bought the T.M. to help him harness it and Zap was demoted to night-light and disc jockey.”  
  
The humbled trainer attempted to pull away subconsciously, but Hal's grip refused to yield. Unsatisfied with that measure of retreat, the dragon's eyes narrowed. “You've given each of us a good home, for a while at least. I want mine back, Vincent. I honestly do. But, if you really, truly can't bring back what we had, then I think you should give me my ball, instead.” Hal closed his eyes and let his head hang. His antennae exaggerated that slump.  
  
Vincent glanced across the bed, whereupon rested Hal's tail. It terminated with a tiny spot of damage and a few blue scales—legacy of a wound that time would never fully heal. “Do you think I made the wrong choice, getting Phil?”  
  
Hal seemed to nod off for a moment, his grip on Vincent's hand not loosening in the slightest. “I don't think so. It was cut short but he had a life outside of the cages and he enjoyed every single minute he got. He was a good asset and a great friend to us all. I think you made the right choice for the wrong reason. I want to wish he'd known you the way I did.”  
  
Vincent lost his composure. “I wish Phil and Zap were coming home with us.”  
  
Hal pulled his master close as he leaned over him to compensate for the difference in their statures while releasing his grip on Vincent's hand to instead hold his body. “I do, too.”  
  
After a minute passed, Hal rose from the bed and settled in on the floor. Vincent released his other pokemon. Theodore gave him a warm hug and slunk into bed. Fiona successfully petitioned approval to sleep with the boys, while Vera let herself out, seeking a place without smoke alarms that would allow her to reflect on the evening's events in peace.  
  


* * *

  
Despite being wedged between his oldest and newest friends, Vincent rose in the middle of the night. They did not mind shifting to let him loose; they felt a restlessness almost as motivating. He stared at the shower drain and turned the water on for a minute before incompletely closing its valve. The sound of dripping seemed much louder than he remembered, as it struck hard tile instead of smooth fin. Still, the suffocating silence that screamed Phil's absence could not be abided. For one night, a wadded towel would serve as a hollow substitute.  
  
Soon after sunrise, Vincent awoke before the others, slipped on day-old clothes, and sneaked away, sorta: Hal's antennae twitched. He wanted to take care of something before boarding the train that would return him to the road leading home. He entrusted an engraving shop with a deactivated pokeball and a message to inscribe into it.  
  
“Phil. He was always proud of himself, and he always had reason to be.”  
  


* * *

 


	9. Thoroughly Cunning

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 9: Thoroughly Cunning.  
  


* * *

  
Opening before Mortimer and Shade, the cabin's front door groaned as if to announce their return. Zap did not need a warning. Having perfected his sense of timing, Zap ensured that he would place supper on the table in exactly twenty minutes, for any earlier and Mortimer would complain that he was not yet ready to eat and that it became cold when he was ready to eat; any later and Zap would be blamed for putting the entire evening behind schedule, as if sitting in a chair and listening to a radio was difficult to squeeze in. Mostly bluster, all that, however, as Zap knew no punishment for poorly-timed dining.  
  
The hiker discarded his hat to a hook near the sports memorabilia case, which he tapped gently as he passed, and collapsed into his lazy-ass recliner holding a day-old newspaper in-hand. Confident that it would be waiting for him, he reached over the small table to a space near an old photograph frame and discovered a fresh cup of coffee that belonged there when he returned home. His newspaper offered no surprises until he reached page three, the League report, which resorted to atypically large and bold headline letters. Mortimer's eyes widened and he called out to the two pokemon he let wander within his cabin's walls. “Wow-whee, that doesn't happen too often. Listen up, guys; I'll read it to ya'.”  
  
“For the first time in five years, a pokemon died in a gym arena during a League-sanctioned event last night. The pokemon, a vaporeon named ‘Phil’—”  
  
Zap dropped the silverware that he was placing on the table.  
  
“—died instantly when his neck was broken by his unidentified opponent. Last night's contest was already controversial amongst gym leaders because it featured the scheduled debut of a new Devon Corporation technology. Promoted as a training tool, many gym leaders expressed concern that the technology, which prevents pokemon from being able to identify other pokemon connected to the device, could cause combat-related accidents. While complaints expressed publicly were vague and tactful, leaked correspondence from the League's gym leader mailing list reveals that some master trainers were adamantly opposed to the device being given a public field test involving unwitting trainers. One such mail, written by the most senior active leader in Pokemon League, Masato Iwamoto, specifically warned against using the device on Psychic-type pokemon. ‘Despite his reluctance,’ wrote Iwamoto, ‘I convinced one of my Psychic pokemon to trial this gimmick. It turned him into a frightened animal. He knew who I was but he was terrified of me and everyone else in the room. I was forced to have another pokemon faint him so I could remove the transponder. The high level of intellect we see in our Psychics is rooted in their powers. When we cripple their senses with this terrible thing, they cannot feel who is friend and foe and they become panicked and defensive, falling back onto primitive survival instincts. Do not use this machine publicly until it is proved safe.’ A spokesman for Devon stated only that the incident is under investigation and that the sensory-deprivation device involved will not be used again until thoroughly redesigned. All activities at Tartaroyal Gym were immediately suspended, but League events will continue, there and elsewhere, according to schedule.”  
  
Soon enough, Mortimer cast the paper aside and moved to the table. Zap was now allowed to serve himself a proper portion, but he only picked at his plate. Mac flung a meatball at his ram. “Do you always lose your stomach when someone dies, or did you know this ‘Phil’?”  
  
“He was a member of my, uh, Vincent's team. Not my team, really. He replaced me as the electric guy because he is—was—more useful than me and his hidden power's electrical.”  
  
Mortimer swallowed. “It's all that little shit's fault, you know. Death follows her around. If she ain't doing a killing, she's getting folks killed one way or another. Well, that's good news for us. One pokemon less to stand in our way. Shadey isn't a big fan of vaporeon scum, is he?”  
  
Shade yelped, licked his master's face, and accepted his master's affectionate embrace.  
  
Zap nursed a second bite before bending down with a napkin to clean up the meatball and a trail of sauce that it left along the floor.  
  
Mortimer leaned over the table's edge to investigate. “Ah, don't worry about that, Zap. Eat your dinner. We've got a big day ahead, and I don't want you going in all malnourished.” The ram's appetite remained absent, but he dared not disobey. “The way I figure it,” Mortimer shoved another wad of food in his mouth and downed it shortly, “Shadey's got the little shit covered, so other than keeping your old teammates occupied, your job's gonna be to bring me that xatu. I don't care what you have to do to get her ball from the boy; just light her up, get her recalled, and get that ball out of his hands. I want her and the little shit in this cabin by nightfall when they come through.” Soon, he reacted to Zap's shifting expression. “Hey, don't look so glum, chum. If she's wearing that chain, you won't be. Plus, you'll earn your guard duty stripes, just like Shade.”  
  
Zap finished his meal. “I always liked Vera, even if she turned against me that night. We were sorta close. I don't know how I'll feel seeing her… kept.”  
  
Mortimer plunked the last meatball off of Zap's face. “Then, you better get used to how you feel wearing that chain, because it isn't going to waste. Clean this shit up, and don't forget the floor.”  
  


* * *

  
Jean materialized standing in the corner of Room 8, physically blocked-in by a wall of orange and green. Peering between Hal and Vera, Theodore stood staring back at him, his shoulders burning with low teal flames, affirming a readiness that threatened the damage deposit. The gallade immediately understood that they saw him as a hostile, but he did not understand why. Things were a little fuzzy. He nervously and slowly leaned a bit to get a look around the room. He could not feel Carl or Jacqueline nearby and wondered why. He started speculating. Did Vincent steal his ball from Jacqueline, or did she discard him as easily as Carl did?  
  
In the most soothing voice she could muster, more to keep Hal's temperament even than to comfort the confused gallade, Vera began a debriefing. “Jean, do you remember what happened at the gym, after you were equipped with this,” she plucked a small transponder from his forehead, left attached by scientists unwilling to risk releasing a killer, “and sent into battle?”  
  
Jean remained disoriented. “Battle? I had nightmare, after I was back ball, not fight, gym.”  
  
Vera raised her left wing to his right cheek, partially occluding the gallade from the dragonite's perspective. “Slow down, calm yourself, and surrender your mind to my care. I will show you what you did not see.”  
  
Jean glanced briefly at the tense, furious dragon, and decided he would rather let Vera explain what happened. Her wings and his cheeks came together for twelve seconds before she released him. He collapsed into the corner, his left hand on his forehead and right arm resting on his knees in front of his face, leaving only his right eye visible. This pose was alien to Vincent and his team, but Jacqueline would recognize it as typical for when Jean became overwhelmed by Carl's emotional swings.  
  
Speaking through his arm in a slow, deliberate pace for the sake of comprehension, “I… I thought I was having a nightmare. It looked like what I see when Master is angry. It would make me do things, bad things, but this time it was attacking me.” Jean let his arm fall away and looked up and around, hoping eye contact with each member of his audience would convey his sincerity to the dragon, bird, badger, cat, and human. “I thought if I killed it, it could not control me again. I thought wrong. It already controlled me.”  
  
Vincent looked down upon him with cold eyes. “It's a long way home. You have plenty of time to think about how you will make up for what you did to our friend.”  
  


* * *

  
They left Room 8 with their damage deposit thankfully returned, and began a trek into the heart of Allylidene Forest, following a familiar trail through Yureido Cove. Its numberless route felt deserted, as most trainers were now at home preparing for classes to resume or on their way to League headquarters to attend junior-flight championship matches. None of Vincent's friends traveled in a ball this day. Hal and Theodore flanked their master. Technically, Jean led the way like a prisoner of war being marched by his captors, although Fiona ran ahead and fell behind in response to anything that caught her interest. Vera picked up the rear, puffing away at her pipe. This behavior concerned Vincent, as he could not discern if a correct adverb to describe her exact manner would be “diligently” or “nervously.”  
  
As they passed a young girl playing with her butterfree, Vincent turned partially and asked Vera if his team should be recalled before entering the village, considering that a parade of trained pokemon might be taken as a deliberate offense by the locals.  
  
His green bird hesitated before replying. “You should recall your team and, as my trainer and master, order me to fly you home, despite the awkwardness that would be entailed. But, I request that you do not. I have been walking this path since before you were born and it still extends somewhat before me.”  
  
Vincent nodded, and continued onward.  
  
Fiona overheard and fell behind again, drawing close to Vera and whispering to her, “Hey, just how old are you?”  
  
Vera chirped haughtily. “Quite, but that is no matter; I'm just getting started. I would appreciate your assistance, if you would do a favor for me, since your hands are more useful than what I have.” Vera slowed her pace and Fiona slowed likewise, until a broader gap existed between them and Vincent as had between herself and Fiona a moment before. “Remember the tree I was standing beside the last time we came through this forest? I have hidden a nest ball there, just like my own. When we pass that tree, switch them, and do not draw any attention to yourself.”  
  
Vincent's team congregated on the village market's porch while Vincent resupplied, spending the last of his credit and all but a few coins in his pocket. Those coins survived because the shopkeeper, who seemed almost happy to see Vincent, offered him a slight discount and rounded-down the total bill. Vincent thanked him graciously and departed with his pokemon behind him.  
  
The shopkeeper watched them leave, then drew his phone and dialed an acquaintance. “Mort? Yeah, they just came through. No, he's got five with him. The badger, dragon, and bird you mentioned are there, plus the feathered cat you want to get, but there's something else too that I ain't seen before. He was green and white like the bird, but he looks like a real slugger. Yeah, no problem, just don't forget you owe me a case of ale when poker night comes around next Friday.”  
  
With Yureido's weathered and destroyed sign behind them, Vera aggravated Vincent's concern by wrapping her wings around him and cooing gently; she never stayed so close to him when they traveled on foot. This fact distracted him, according to Vera's expectation. With a slight expenditure of her power, she also planted suggestions into Hal and Theodore that they ought to move ahead and keep closer tabs on Jean, just in case. Fiona wandered up ahead, too, but with conscious purpose rather than subconscious urging. Her activities un-monitored, she located the tree, and the ball within, bespoke. Falling back again, she made the exchange and secreted away the xatu's ball. Returning to the fold and tapping Vera's side gently to signal her mission's success, Fiona and soon the others came to a stop after hearing Vincent grunt; a consequence of Vera strengthening her grip on his body until he could no longer move.  
  
All eyes upon her, she released her master. “I'm sorry to make this so abrupt, friends, but the time has come for me to leave you all.”  
  
Vincent looked at her with hope in his eyes after noticing the serious gleam within hers. “Will we meet again, some sunny day?”  
  
“No,” Vera faked a downcast expression and waited for Vincent's expression to follow before she brightened up. “It will be raining on the day of your graduation from college, despite the weather forecast. Theodore, you have three and a half years to buy a poncho.”  
  
Vera's friend offered her what he thought was her ball. She refused it, asserting that she would not be needing it where she was going, before ascending into the sky through a break in the canopy. What remained of Vincent's team continued moving along their homeward-bound path. They heard him mutter something indistinct but did not pry for clarification.  
  


* * *

  
Zap pushed a bush aside to get a look at his target. Hal had to be dealt with first because he knew how to use earthquake. “I hope you can forgive me,” he whispered while stepping into the trail behind his former team. With a deep breath he quickly built a powerful charge within the gems of his head and tail. Using his fore-hooves as a conduit, he reached behind himself, allowing his energy to arc wildly between points of contact, and swung his arms forward quickly, directing all his power forward with astounding precision.  
  
Amongst Vincent and the pokemon nearby him, only Jean perceived Zap's attack and only once it was too late to react. Because the group walked closely together, all five were stunned by the strongest bolt of lightning an ampharos wearing a magnetic necklace could summon. Vincent recovered enough to kneel at Hal's side for a second. Theodore glanced back and saw Zap readying a second strike. He leapt in to carry Vincent away; unfortunately, abandoning Hal to be shocked into a paralyzed submission before he realized what was hitting him. Leaving The Boss behind, Theodore cast sunny-day and flared his vents while dropping to all-fours, charging toward Zap before he could charge a third strike.  
  
The ram knew he was too slow to have any hope of outrunning his pursuer, but he could at least draw Theodore away from Vincent and give the rest of his new team a chance to complete their ambush. Thick foliage scratched against the wounds on Zap's ankle caused by the chain, each stroke reminding him that he would likely be unable to get Vera's ball and should expect to be punished. Glancing back, he saw that Tio was gaining ground quickly, burning to ash and charcoal every bush and sapling that moments before impeded his advance.  
  
Vincent and Fiona made futile efforts toward getting Hal back on his feet until the hiker emerged from the tree line.  
  
“I told you before: you can't escape, you little shit!”  
  
Vincent gave up on Hal and recalled him before looking around to see what became of Jean. “Fucking deserter,” he spat, as the grass shark was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Mortimer tauntingly displayed a travel mug to Fiona. “I brought your favorite brew; it'll be just like old times. Shade, Malachite! Inflict some wounds.”  
  
A tyranitar blocked the path ahead with her body and a localized sandstorm, while a ninetales burst from the bushes and charged towards Fiona, only to discover that since their last face-off, and a month of proper nourishment, she became the faster one. Mortimer looked in the direction that his quarry fled and shouted, “Zeke, cut her off!”  
  
Fiona's options became constrained when a nidoking stepped into the path's other exit. She turned-heel with a flourish, splashing an unprepared ninetales with a small wave of water, allowing Fiona clear passage back toward her trainer, although there was little he could do to defend her. Shade shook the water from his coat and continued after Fiona in literally hot pursuit.  
  
Vincent tried to get the hiker's attention, demanding that he call off his pokemon, but Mortimer ignored his voice and watched the show.  
  
Fiona cried as she ran past her master and clawed her way up the trunk of a large tree. “Vinny! What are we gonna do?”  
  
The hiker winked toward apparently nothing, signaling his kecleon to do the other half of Zap's job. Camo dropped his disguise and snapped his tongue at Vincent's belt, snatching away Vera's nest ball, catching it in his mouth, and bolting toward the bushes while mimicking their mottled appearance. As Vincent turned when he felt a tug from the lizard's tongue lashing his belt, Shade had altered course; Vincent's realization of what happened was interrupted for the ninetales then pounced upon him.  
  


* * *

  
Theodore was not so much fighting against the ampharos anymore—whose weakened frame was now propped against a tree—as he was venting his anger with his fists. “I knew you were upset, but I can't believe you turned on us!”  
  
Zap, too exhausted and battered to fight back, let static discharge be his only defense, and it was not slowing down Theodore very much. If anything, it made him angrier. The typhlosion, becoming distraught, threw a punch at the end of each sentence he spoke, now mostly in his and his former comrade's native tongue, exception given to concepts of purely human origin. “He's been so good to us. Screw the League; he argued for you week after week to get you into those karaoke competitions just because he knew you'd enjoy them. He bought you every album you ever wanted, even tracking down some of that ancient, expensive vinyl stuff and the hardware to play it. You are disgusting!”  
  
Theodore was ready to re-double his assault when he faintly heard his name being called in the struggling voice of his master. By the time Zap realized he was not being struck or yelled at anymore, his assailant was crashing through the scrub along the singed trail he previously left behind. Theodore's mouth hanged agape, and he felt the poison glands that developed years ago in the roof of his mouth bulge and pulse in-time with his elevated heart rate.  
  


* * *

  
Fiona was a cat up a tree. Surf, the only technique she knew the ninetales would notice, was, according to her range and her ability, insufficient with which to defend Vincent, and she knew if she descended, she would be chased down, burned up, and taken prisoner, leaving Vincent to the hiker's mercy, anyway.  
  
Vincent struggled against the fox's attacks as it attempted to subdue the trainer by entangling his limbs with its tails and using summoned flame to make the air suffocating. “You about got 'em,” spoke Shade's master's voice. Vincent managed to deliver a blow to Shade's jaw, but the extension of his arm opened a gap into which Shade, quickly recovering, occupied with his muzzle and coughed up another burst of flame, singeing Vincent's hair. The scent interested Shade; it was similar to, but different from, that of sneasel fur.  
  
Hearing the typhlosion burst through the bushes, Mortimer stopped laughing and reached into his jacket, but hesitated. Shade's flash-fire ability would harmlessly absorb Theodore's most powerful attacks, after all. Except, he was not flaring up. His flames were low and shifting not toward yellow or even blue, but a murky green. “Shade! Get off of him before—”  
  
Theodore grappled the ninetales and stripped him from Vincent. Both rolled along the path and on their second revolution, Tio savagely buried his fangs into Shade's neck, injecting every drop of toxin he could muster directly into his blood stream.  
  
The hiker ran after them both. “Kite! Get that fucker off of Shade!”  
  
As Malachite advanced, Fiona looked up, hearing motion amongst branches higher than her own. Jean dropped from the canopy with his hands clenched together, bashing Malachite with all of his might, sending the monster to the ground. Despite her efforts to regain footing, Jean continued his assault. Mortimer quickly estimated that the gallade would be victorious. The hiker continued on to help his precious vulpix while his nidoking approached from the other end of the path, expecting to join their melee.  
  
Theodore yelled through his teeth, “G'no unn huurts g'hee g'oss unn g'livefs,” refusing to release his jaw's grip on the ninetales until well after both Mortimer and Vincent's combined strength pulled them up from the ground and eventually apart. Mortimer fell to his knees, drew up his vulpix, and cradled him in his arms. The fox's eyes had grown dark and cloudy, and putrid foam bubbled up from his throat. As the hiker drew his life's second best friend closer, Shade struggled to lick the man's cheek before falling limp and exhaling one final, tiny wisp of flame.  
  
Never before had the fox's kiss burned cold and slick like alkaline.  
  
The nidoking trod up to his trainer and, in his confusion regarding what was happening, poked at the limp animal that his master cradled.  
  
“Fuck off, Zeke!” the hiker wailed as he gripped the slowly-cooling body more tightly.  
  
Theodore stood and regained his senses. “Did I—I killed it, didn't I?”  
  
Vincent hummed in low affirmation.  
  
“Are you alright, Boss?”  
  
Vincent hummed in low contradiction.  
  
“Then, I'm sorry. But, I will do anything to save you, like you—”  
  
Vincent interrupted Theodore by recalling his starter to its pokeball.  
  


* * *

  
The sandstorm abated, proving that Jean had finally defeated the stone basilisk. He looked to Vincent for a cue, not sure if the nidoking posed a threat. It seemed more confused than aggressive, and the opposing trainer was clearly indisposed, although Jean could easily sense that the man was on the brink of doing something violent. He could also sense that he was not the only Psychic-type nearby, monitoring their situation.  
  
Mortimer recalled his ninetales, pulled a black marker from his pocket, popped off its cap to land in the dirt as the button on Shade's ball ejected likewise, and painted a black ribbon around the now-sealed capsule. Despite his tears, his voice took on the characteristic of mad laughter. “That little shit, I swear. Everywhere she goes, she finds a way to kill my friends; in order.” He glanced up at the cat in her tree. “Well, so be it. Because everywhere I go, I can find a way to kill hers.” The hiker reached into his jacket to stuff the pen back into his pocket. “Every single one of 'em.” When his hand came out again, it held a rusty revolver.  
  
Vincent lacked any reliable cover to protect himself. Fiona lacked any idea of what she was seeing. Jean felt a strange force somehow holding him back and preventing him from intervening.  
  
As the hiker's arm swung forward to extend and align his weapon, a green bird fell through a hole in the canopy, wrapped him within her wings with all of her might, and before the pistol could be accurately fired, both the xatu and the vengeance-seeker vanished in a glowing flash. Mortimer's gun fell to the ground. Its smoking barrel became the center of attention for all members of a silenced audience.  
  
Zap limped along Theodore's ashen path, intending to stay hidden while surveying the scene. He saw Zeke trying to get Malachite standing, but she was too dazed to respond to his prodding and shaking. Jean stood directly beneath the low tree branch, beckoning Fiona to descend, and catching her when she dropped into his waiting arms. She giggled a couple times, as it was fun to be “up there” even if only for a couple seconds.  
  
The ampharos was so unusually successful at being stealthy today that Camo did not hear Zap walking up from behind and became a stumbling block. Struck from behind, Vera's bogus ball popped out of the lizard's mouth and rolled near Vincent's feet while both pokemon fell to the ground.  
  
He looked it over, realized that it was a fraud, and glanced at Fiona with a smirk. “Do you know anything about this, little thief?”  
  
Fiona smiled deviously. “Vera told me to not get caught, so, ‘no.’ ”  
  
Vincent ruffled her crown, pitched Vera's prop ball into the bushes, and approached his abused ram.  
  
As Zap came upon his feet, he met three familiar faces. He swallowed hard, preparing to face the music. “I didn't hurt Hal too badly, did I?”  
  
Vincent delayed with a breath. “His body is tough stuff, but he's probably going to be very sad when he finds out it was you who attacked him.”  
  
Zap looked downward, stopping as his gaze passed a ball with a black ribbon attached to Vincent's belt. “My new master read the article in the paper to me. It really was our Philly. I was still hoping it was a mistake.”  
  
Jean took a half-step forward and confessed. “It was a mistake. If someone could offer, I would choose to die to give Phil—life back. Against Mast—Carl's—feelings, and what he made me do, I have felt all, you as my friends.”  
  
Vincent released the deactivated ball from his belt—as Jean continued in almost a whisper, “He felt that I did. It made him unhappy, sometimes.”—and held it out. “Say goodbye. I think it is time for all of us to choose our path home.” Zap raised his arms to borrow the ball from Vincent.  
  
The ampharos held Phil's ball against the gem in his forehead, gave it a tiny spark, and choked slightly. As he motioned to return it, he noticed and read its inscription. “I think that's the right way to remember him.”  
  
Malachite finally stood on her own two feet. And, also, on Zeke's, as he was the only thing keeping her within forty-five degrees of vertical. They trudged slowly toward the group.  
  
Zap almost broke a smile. “I am slow like you said, but it looks like I'll be the one leading the way this time. Please do me one favor, Master: take my music player with everything on it to college with you. I would appreciate it if that's the way you remember me.”  
  
Pursuing a path leading to Mac's cabin, Zap blinked twice, slowly and faintly, before disappearing behind foliage with his new team following loosely behind him. Camo left the scene last, after taking a moment to recover the ball that Vincent threw to the wayside.  
  


* * *

  
Mortimer looked at eerily familiar surroundings. He stood near a wooden picnic table, upon which a green bird sat and smoked a pipe decorated with tiny natu feathers. The table and a nearby stone hut were from the Ruins of Alph's visitor center, but how it came to be in the backyard of the house Mortimer grew up in perplexed him. “Where are we?”  
  
Vera vented smoke. “We are at our homes. To be more exact, a hybridization of those places we imagine to be our homes.”  
  
He sat near her at the bench. “This can't be real, can it?”  
  
Vera puffed a smoke ring. “It is as real as it needs to be, and for now, what you see is all you need to be concerned with. I brought you into this illusion to give you an opportunity to make peace with the past and to enter a future I wish to offer you. Mortie, I know that you've felt a strange familiarity when you've been near me and heard my voice. That is because we met about thirty years ago, when your parents took you on vacation and visited the Ruins of Alph, back when this table really was as freshly-painted as it looks now. After you left, I saw a vision, and laid plans to meet with you again, here and now. Finding this opportunity was difficult and this is the only chance. If you are willing, I shall counsel you for the next few years, to help you to grieve for your loss of Feathers and Shade, to forgive Fiona, to denounce the monster you became, and to start a new life unburdened with the hatred, regret, and pain that you have allowed to suffocate your soul.”  
  
The hiker looked toward the house he grew up in. A young boy with a pidgey on his shoulder exited its back door to investigate a faint whimpering sound. Beneath three steps that led down from the back porch to the grass below, the boy found a small animal, burnt-sienna-colored, cowering with six tails wrapped tightly against its body. He did not turn back to face Vera. “You say this is the only chance. You think I'll believe there was no way for you to bring me here to your little Psychic dream-world without letting Shade die?”  
  
Vera wrapped her left wing around Mortimer's left shoulder. “Shade would have anchored you to your history had I come to you before his death. I saw Shade's fate when we met in Yureido Cove. He was going to die, today or another day, but if it were another day, it would have been at your own hand, and that would have destroyed you.”  
  
Mortimer rose and shouted through the stream of smoke rising from Vera's pipe. “Bullshit! Nothing could make me hurt Shade.”  
  
Vera beckoned him to come close and shared with him a vision. “If you had drawn your weapon against Theodore, Jean would have intervened at that moment and given you his emotional pains to incapacitate you and to force your team to retreat. Coupled with your already-damaged psyche, it would have infected you. After failing to recapture Fiona, you would have ultimately lost control and you would not notice until it became too late.” The vision ended abruptly after Mortimer saw his own perspective, kneeling next to the gashed carcass of Shade. The murder weapon, a bloody spade, lay at his side. Realizing what he had done, he reached for his revolver and turned it upon himself.  
  
The young boy finally succeeded in coaxing a vulpix from beneath the stairs after noticing its reaction to his shadow. The vulpix seemed afraid of standing in the sunlight, but emerged with mild trepidation to travel within the bounds of the boy's cast shadow. Little Mortie moved slowly to guide the fox cub up the stairs and into his home, where shade reigned everywhere but near the windows.  
  
“I don't want to let them go, Madame Xatu. I never had any friends before I met them, or other than them, really. None that wouldn't turn on me when I needed them. I don't—I can't be alone again.”  
  
Tapping its seat with her left toes, Vera gestured an invitation to sit on the bench once again to Mac, who remained in the kneeling pose he took while experiencing an alternative future that almost came to pass.  
  
“You will not be alone. You will have me, for a time. You will have Zap, who has burned all of his bridges to earn your approval. And, you have the remaining members of your team and all those pokemon you have trapped as trophies. Fiona's claims indicate that you have quite a collection.”  
  
“But, I don't know them like I know Feathers.”  
  
“Knew.”  
  
“And, like I know Shade.”  
  
“Knew.”  
  
“Stop that!”  
  
Vera drew heavily on her pipe, scowling at him through half-lidded eyes before slowly venting all the smoke through tiny nostrils at the base of her beak. “Listen, Trainer. Ultimately, this is all your fault. You never trained Feathers to defend herself; all the cuts and scrapes you wanted to protect her from caught up in one tragic instant. You set your team against an innocent trainer because you wanted to torture and murder a soul whose motivation was survival when she wronged you, and as a consequence, with his entire body boiling with poison, Shade died in your arms. I love all my boys despite their imperfections, but you are a terrible trainer, Mortimer, and I can only offer you this one chance to redeem yourself, so their deaths won't be a complete loss.”  
  
With a forceful flourish, the green bird extended her white wing toward the mirage of a faux Victorian-styled house, blocking Mortimer's view of her face below her eyes. They stared into his with a cold, piercing gaze.  
  
Mac turned away and listened to a faint, distant voice introducing a new puppy to the home's many rooms. A small brown bird chirped as an addition to each of the boy's statements, and occasionally a whimper or yelp could also be heard. He returned his attention to Vera. “I don't want to live knowing I squandered all the friendship and loyalty Shade gave me for nothing. For his sake, please, help me, Madame Xatu.”  
  
Vera blew hard through her pipe and flapped part of her right wing, sending a plume of smoke and ashes against Mortimer's face and causing him to recoil. Her conjured plane faded and collapsed.  
  
Mac cleared his vision and looked around to find himself seated on a tree stump in front of his cabin with Vera standing behind him. Night was falling, but a ghostly light shined from the narrow and obscured path that led to his home. An ampharos led the way for a limping tyranitar, a still-confused nidoking, and a kecleon that balanced an empty nest ball on the tip of his nose. As Mac's team approached the cabin, Zap became concerned. Feeling Theodore's reaction to his treachery in every aching inch of his body, Zap was deeply terrified by thoughts of what Mac might do to him, since Vera was obviously not the one on the chain.  
  
Vera walked slowly to Zap as he neared, and touched his cheek as though she were apologizing. “Unbelievable as it may seem, you made the least-bad decision.”  
  
The ram continued inside to begin dinner while Camo dropped the ball at his master's feet and climbed into his favorite sleeping tree. Malachite and Zeke paused when Vera beckoned them from the doorway as she followed Mac inside.  
  
Zeke dug a toe into the soil. “He needs to use our balls. We're not allowed in the house.”  
  
Vera scoffed. “Don't you want to be there for your master when he needs you?”  
  
Malachite and Zeke nodded in affirmation.  
  
“Then enter and keep him company like good pokemon should. Old rules no longer apply here.”  
  


* * *

  
Fiona panted heavily. With each stride, a laminated card with arcane symbols written upon it in what was most likely someone's—or something's—blood flopped back and forth as it dangled from a collar that she convinced herself was fashionable, although its color clashed somewhat with her natural frill. “This is exhausting, but kinda fun,” she admitted to her master.  
  
Vincent awkwardly rode upon her shoulders and back, too scared of throwing her off-balance to move a muscle as she raced like a speed skater across a river's surface. The surf H.M. earned its keep. “I'm just glad you're fast and intimidating enough to keep the jellyfish away. At this rate, we'll be at my house before sunrise.”  
  
His riverboat captain groaned and leaned as they took a turn. “Your bed had better be the most comfortable bed ever, because after a few more hours of this, I'm going to sleep for two days straight.”  
  
Vincent chuckled, “You'll get hungry and wake up. Besides, it's time to give you a break. We can take the foot path after this next bend in the river.”  
  
With proud determination and knowledge that her goal was almost within sight, Fiona redoubled her efforts at the cost of breathing too hard to be able to continue their conversation.  
  
Transitioning from water to land traumatized them both as their forward momentum could carry them no longer. Fiona wanted to at least come to a stop and let Vincent down properly, but she started collapsing a few paces beyond the cat-tail border. Vincent put his feet down in time and let her smaller frame surpass. Despite his backpack altering his center of gravity, he stabilized himself. Fiona, however, stumbled and slid a short way across the grass.  
  
He quickly approached and knelt to help her up, commenting, “That was amazing, girl. Maybe those vitamins do pay off,” but reconsidered as she had become delirious again and looked unfit to stand.  
  
“I told you you'd be proud of me,” she slurred after spitting away a broken blade of grass. She tried to turn to face him, but managed only a half-roll. “Beat—assessss.”  
  
Vincent recalled her as she passed out, remembering the orientation of her body and her ball so he could release her onto his bed without need to re-position her. Standing again, he looked around. He remembered the first time that he was allowed to venture this far from home by himself. Not by himself, technically; Theodore accompanied him, of course. Despite his parents' reluctance to his keeping a pokemon at all—and especially one that could burn their house down—once they realized that the animal would keep their son safe, Vincent gained a freedom to travel that children without pokemon would wait a few more years to enjoy. On the other side of that coin, he was a graduated high-school senior before the first time in his life that he stood alone overlooking the river marking the outskirts of the town in which he grew up. That liberating sensation of standing alone, strong and independent, in the wilderness was tainted somewhat by a longing to have someone to share the feeling with. And, by soreness in his arms and shoulders resulting from being bitten, brazed, and clawed by a large, spiteful fox that he could not himself overpower.  
  
He spoke to nobody. “Fiona, ball. Zap, walk. Vera's Vera. Phil, dead. God damn it. Tio, ball, until I'm ready to walk and talk. That leaves Hal, and Jean.”  
  
Vincent released Hal and offered him a few berries to help him recover, as he struggled to rise after reconstituting.  
  
“What happened, Master? I just remember getting my ass fried off. Are we okay?” The two began down the path leading home.  
  
“In short, we were ambushed by Mac. He wanted to get Fiona back, and Zap was helping him. Zap electrocuted you two or three times; I'm not sure, we all got hit by the first one. Tio went after Zap, that ninetales went after Fiona,” Vincent remembered Hal's amicable attitude toward Shade, and recognized in his dragon's face how he was already taking the news, and omitted the next bullet point. “It was a mess but in the end, Vera teleported Mac away just before he tried to shoot me.”  
  
Hal, unaware of Mortimer's connection to Fiona—having only known him as some guy that Vincent, Vera, Tio, and Fiona socialized with at a gym once—almost staggered as he realized that the timid fox, too scared to take a bite of hamburger from him, was also the savage enforcer that Fiona described.  
  
“Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Vincent stopped walking. “Hal, a dorm room is not a home. I don't want you to come to college with me.”  
  
Hal nodded gently.  
  
Vincent reached to his belt and released Jean. “Do you have any unfinished business to take care of before we go home?”  
  
Jean took a moment, first to consider the question, then to construct his answer. “Master, there are things I would like to do at my, his, room. And, I would like to goodbye, one, friend.”  
  
“And, you know where I live?”  
  
Jean nodded. “We live, if you keep me.”  
  
“Alright, go take care of it. Be quick, we'll be waiting up for you.”  
  
Vincent took Hal's right hand and said, “Walk and talk,” as Jean sprinted away.  
  


* * *

  
Initially upset to be roused at three-o'clock in the morning, Mr. Valley mellowed when he saw who pressed the remote call button at his petite mansion's ornate front gate. He authorized entry and suppressed the security system. Jean strode up boldly to the front door where the master of the house waited.  
  
Jean had practiced his statement in his mind and, faintly, in his mouth since Vincent released him. “I have come to gather my few belongings and to say goodbye to Lucas.”  
  
Mister Valley became unsteady. “My daughter said that you were now under the care of that boy she met when she was still in public school. I've been in the pokemon business for a long time and I've never heard of a member of the ralts family abandoning its trainer like this.”  
  
The gallade reached out to Mr. Valley and showed him a censored version of what happened the night that Carl disposed of him.  
  
Mister Valley shook his head. “That boy. But, still, it's your duty as his pokemon to—”  
  
Jean had never interrupted Mr. Valley before, vocally or psychically, and never would again. “I am doing my duty; I am fulfilling my master's wishes.” Pushing by Mr. Valley, Jean climbed the stairs and entered Carl's old bedroom. It was mostly bare, seeing little use since Carl took up a life on the road pursuing pokemon excellence year-round, but his closet remained stuffed. Lucas slept on Carl's bed, as he always did when the team was sent home, usually because Carl found himself in a hurry and did not want to be challenged to battles by route twerps. Jean placed his hand on the feraligatr's brow and implanted a melange of sensations that accurately reflected Jean's sadness for leaving his best friend and his hopefulness that he will one day form a true bond with the new trainer that had forgiven his trespass and allowed him an opportunity to prove himself trustworthy.  
  
He then turned away, opened Carl's closet, and rummaged through a number of old shoe-boxes until he found one that contained two game-house pokeballs. He placed them into another shoe-box that bore Jean's name and contained four shiny leaves, a photograph of himself with Lucas and Carl taken on the day he evolved into a kirlia, a darkened and discharged dawn stone, the first spoon he ever bent, and a folded sheet of old paper. The page was lined with guides for elementary students' benefit and bore the penmanship of a novice hand.  
  
“My name is Carl and I am all most 7 years. I have 2 pokemon becus my dad works with pokemon and give me them. I give them names from favoret tv mans. One is totodal I call him Luke he is strong and some time mean but he get sory when he hurt me so its ok. Two is ralts I call him Zhan and he is smart and we can talk a little with no saying and trik my sister. Dad say when Zhan grow up he can be more smart or more strong and I can pick but I will give Zhan pick so he is happy. When we grow up we will win pokemon jims and get famus on tv!”  
  
Jean folded the photograph into the page and placed it on Carl's desk, using his exhausted dawn stone as a paperweight, before exiting Carl's room with his shoe-box and leaving his erstwhile home behind to begin a new journey.  
  


* * *

  
Vincent peeled back the sheets of his childhood bed and placed Fiona's pillow next to his own before aligning her luxury ball and triggering it, such that she re-materialized just above its surface and plopped down in a sleeping position. As incapacitated when released as she was when he recalled her at the river's shoreline, Fiona seemed to already be dreaming as he drew his sheets over her. He smiled as she snuggled up to her pillow and faintly spoke with half-pronounced words, “They don't know how good this feels.”  
  
The retired trainer descended a flight of stairs and entered his living room, illuminated gently by a shoulder-mounted candelabra burning with colorfully-tinted flames. His typhlosion dutifully unfolded a sofa bed and prepared it for his master. His thoughts distracted him and he jumped with a start before snuffing his vents when he felt Vincent's arm wrapping around his upper back.  
  
Theodore looked into the young man's eyes as he whispered, “Like I would to save you.”  
  
Tio nodded gently, stepped away from Vincent, and re-ignited his shoulders, illuminating the room once again. He bit the narrow edge of a spare pillow to hold it while he pulled a pillow case over it from below. When he opened his mouth, he noticed two tiny green stains where his fangs poked into the pillow's fabric. “All this time, Boss, I was looking for excuses to see just how powerful this stuff was. Now that I know,” Theodore looked up from his pillow and directly at Vincent, “it scares me.”  
  
Vincent approached, took the pillow from him, and tossed it onto their make-shift bed. “It should scare you, but it doesn't scare me.” He licked two fingers and ran them along Tio's head against the lay of his fur, creating a subtle mohawk. “Because I know that, just like your fire, you've learned to be careful with it.”  
  
With as little noise as possible, Jean entered the home holding a shoe-box and asked where Hal was at.  
  
Vincent addressed Jean's question while Theodore climbed into bed and straightened out its covers. “He said he wanted to spend some time alone to think. He probably went across town to find a pond to sleep in. He'll be back in the morning; we'll hear his stomach rumbling just before he knocks on the door.”  
  
Jean nodded to acknowledge, secured the home's locks, and sat in a large chair with the shoe-box securely held on his lap. Eyes closing, he joined his new family in calming rest.  
  


* * *

 


	10. Likes To Relax

 

* * *

  
Can't Escape, Chapter 10: Likes To Relax.  
  


* * *

  
“But, why throw the hats?”  
  
Theodore folded his poncho as he entered behind Vincent and Jacqueline. “It's tradition, Fifi; it's not supposed to make sense. And, it's a place of so-called ‘higher learning,’ so it really isn't supposed to make sense.”  
  
Vincent gave his fiancee a kiss before re-acquainting himself with the members of his family who returned ahead of him from, or did not attend, his graduation ceremony. While Hal and his girls traveled from the event under their own power to make arrangements for the housewarming party, Jean had remained at Vincent and Jacqueline's new apartment to facilitate the needs of movers and delivery-men, such as buzzing doors and initialing paperwork.  
  
When the man of the hour walked in, he was greeted by a new poker table; a surprise gift that Hal bought for the graduate, its surface loaded with snacks to share while watching films scheduled to play that evening on the entertainment center that arrived earlier that afternoon. Assuming, that is, it would be configured in time. To encourage that, first Vincent gave a hug to one now-evolved shoe-box dratini, Lynn, who he found half-entangled by cables of every kind and grumbling complaints that connectors were not designed with dragon's claws in mind, and then to the other, Ivy, who he found in the kitchen preparing their dinner. Despite how poor and sickly they looked when he first saw them three and a half years prior, they thrived under Hal's care, as had Hal under theirs.  
  
Dinner passed beneath an atmosphere that wanted to feel jovial and celebratory, but a sense of incompleteness tainted it. That sense quickly became an elephant in the room and lingered throughout the first and second films, becoming larger with each passing hour. Lynn and Ivy became vicariously uncomfortable as their family's members paid less and less attention to the shows and more attention to the front door and balcony any time a knocking or tapping sound was heard.  
  
When the second film's credits rolled, no liveliness remained in the party and everyone wordlessly agreed to call it a night.  
  
Jacqueline kissed Vincent upon his forehead. “I'm going to bed. Dad wants me to show up early and get my new office arranged before normal hours so there won't be any silly hiccups.”  
  
Hal and his girls said their good-nights before flying back to Vincent's childhood home, where they now kept residence with his parents. Hal remained uneasy about flying, but the fraternal twins were naturals in the air and he trusted them to catch him if he accidentally looked straight down and froze.  
  
Fiona flopped onto the couch near Vincent and whined, “I ate too muuuuuuuch!”  
  
Vincent rubbed her belly gently. “You always do when you try to compete with the dragons. Just give up on something for once. You aren't seven feet tall, and I don't think an extra twenty kilos would look as good on your frame as it would on Lynn's or Ivy's. Be glad you have a metabolism that burns off anything you can shove inside your mouth.”  
  
A green bird rapped on the door of apartment 6A three times. Vincent bolted from his seat and opened the door with an excitement that evaporated instantly. Bowing slightly to take a humble stance, Crying-Tree presented to him an ornate wooden box and paced away without any further communication.  
  
It seemed out of place when Vincent sat the box atop his green-felted table, surrounded on all sides by empty bowls and stray popcorns. Vincent pressed its latch and opened it slowly and carefully, finding within it an apricorn pokeball of even more ornate design than its case displayed, and a folded note bearing a wax seal embossed with elegant ideographs. He read the letter aloud to himself while Jean secured the doors as always.  
  
“To the recipient of this message: To celebrate my 84th year as a pokemon trainer, I have decided to give myself a wonderful gift—retirement. At my age, I cannot give my companions the attention they deserve. I asked each of my pokemon to choose a trainer amongst those who received my special badge, so they may continue to enjoy the companionship of a dedicated and resourceful guardian. Please accept this pokemon into your life as it is willing to accept you into its own, and forge the bonds of both courage and compassion that I saw in you when I selected you to wear my true badge. — Iwamoto”  
  
Vincent re-folded the missive, closed it within the box, and held it in his lap for a few minutes. He then walked over to Jean, seated in an opposing sectional, and entrusted it to him. “I think I'll worry about this when I have room for another worry. Protect it until then.”  
  
Jean placed his palms securely over the case's sides and looked into Vincent's eyes with genuine appreciation of his trust. He stared for a moment before giving up on his hope that he and Vincent had been together enough to form an empathic connection, and spoke in a low, but articulate, voice, “I will not allow any of us to be harmed.” The gallade slid his right hand across the case's foremost edge and glanced at a small shelf, upon which a game-house pokeball with a black ribbon around it stood upon a perch sized for a baseball beside a dull blue stone. “Never again.”  
  
Aside from a brief inward sniffle, Vincent silently retired to his room with Theodore following closely behind, muttering something about fools who don't get their eight hours at night.  
  
Fiona crawled around the furniture's bend to sit next to Jean. “He's worried because Vera broke her promise, isn't he?”  
  
Jean did not respond.  
  
“Are you gonna sleep sitting here?”  
  
Jean did not respond, but he did close his eyes.  
  
“Good, because I'm too stuffed to move again.” Fiona clapped her hands to turn off the lights, leaned against Jean, and hugged a throw pillow tightly to keep warm as both fell asleep. Her pillow seemed out of place, as its chaotic red string binding and loose, exposed polyester stuffing did not do much to complement the apartment's decor.  
  


* * *

  
Jacqueline's mission to get out of bed and off to work without awakening the others was mostly a success, although she knew that Jean was aware of her motions. Glancing out through the balcony's sliding-glass door to see the sky as it started to show a first hint of a new day's light, Jackie noticed that the door was now adorned by a small suction cup with a hook piercing a small piece of paper that read, “Please unlock this before you go. ~ 'V.”  
  
Vincent felt uncomfortably hot and broke a sweat, unusual for someone accustomed to sleeping in the embrace of a Fire-type. He developed a thirst that got the best of him and he awoke to find himself held down by a familiar weight. Vera had taken Jackie's station on the bed shortly after she slipped away to go to work and cozied up against him. With his right arm and hand, Vincent reached across the wing that she draped upon him and gently stroked her feathers as she began speaking in her softest and most-soothing voice.  
  
“I'm regretful that I left you to worry, but I underestimated the amount of electrical activity that yesterday's storm would bring and couldn't fly here safely until late. Still, not bad for a four-year forecast, right?”  
  
Vincent agreed, “Not bad at all. You saw all of this, didn't you?”  
  
Vera chirped. “This, and other, less favorable possibilities, too. I've glimpsed little bits at a time, starting soon after I was released at the ruins by Eugene. He was my original trainer,” she added as Vincent clearly did not recognize that name. Then she sighed gently. “He didn't appreciate my candor after he used a speech T.M. on me.”  
  
Vincent raked his fingers through her plumage again. “His loss. I appreciate your candor. Well, what's next?”  
  
Vera gently nipped the edge of his ear and sat upright upon the bed. “If you mean the immediate future, breakfast is next. If you're asking big-picture, I don't know.” Vera allowed her narrow shoulders to droop slightly. “I'm exhausted. I've been straining my powers for most of my life to puppeteer destiny and create an opportunity to save that boy. I'll keep my right eye open for spontaneous tragedies, but other than that, I would like to remember what it is like to be surprised, to not-worry about the consequences of other people's decisions, to lie on a comfortable bed and sleep peacefully until I'm not tired anymore, instead of awakening at odd hours to be in a specific place at a specific time to nudge the course of history. What's next is, I'm going to relax.” Vera rose from the bed, “But first, I want to do something special. Give me your money and go back to sleep. This team will share a late breakfast when I return.”  
  
Vincent waved toward the dresser where his wallet rested to grant his permission before lying back down and becoming engulfed by Theodore's right arm. Ever since Vera startled them in the morning after she evolved, Tio defensively clutched Vincent whenever he was sleeping and smelled her nearby.  
  
The green bird used her small suction cup hook to carry an otherwise untenable luxury ball and exited through the apartment's balcony, flying toward a much larger city whose craftsmen offered a service that Vera sought.  
  


* * *

  
Vincent's home awoke to flavored scents of Chinese take-out hovering in the air, and all present members of the family expressed their pleasure in seeing their seer join them once again. Fiona ate like she was starving, but stopped abruptly when she remembered the events of the day when Vera departed. “Vera,” she asked, “is he okay now? I mean, is he ever going to try to get me again?”  
  
Vera cracked open a fortune cookie. “This says, ‘The best is yet to come.’ I will look forward to that! Fiona, for your first question, I believe that, yes, Mac is going to get along okay, now. For the second, why don't you go take a look at your ball?”  
  
Fiona arched an eyebrow, left her seat at the breakfast table, and walked across the living room to find Vincent's pokeball belt. She removed from it the ball that she traded her freedom for almost four years before, wagering what little she had on little more than a hunch.  
  
She examined her black obsidian orb with its gold-plated seal and red jasper ring near the top. It now bore an inscription, freshly carved into its surface.  
  
“Fiona. Got away safely.”  
  


* * *

 


End file.
